The Rookie Chronicles 2: Black Ops Rising
by Obsidian Productions
Summary: The Rookie is back. With the Human-Covenant War over and the Flood defeated, the galaxy is now trying to rebuild. But something's out there. Something evil. Something powerful. Black Ops. Once a secret section of ONI, now a rogue faction with the best soldiers, the best ships and secret knowledge that could end Humanity. It's up to the Rookie and a handful of others to stop them.
1. Cold Memories

_**-The Rookie Chronicles 2-  
**__**Black Ops Rising**_

A Novel by Obsidian Production**_s_**

_**Chapter 01  
**__-Cold Memories-_

It had been a long, long time since Trent had been able to just...sit down and relax. Eons and eras. At least, that's how he felt about it. Sitting there in a small diner, having had time to eat a hamburger, fries and down three cups of Mountain Dew Vex, Trent felt content. The sun shined in through the windows, the dozen or so people that occupied the interior, mostly younger couples, chattered quietly and happily. The waitress had flirted with Trent every time she came by, and he hadn't exactly shot her down. Not yet, at least.

Trent kept his eyes open, scanning the entryway and the stretch of sidewalk on display in front of the diner. He'd been here two hours already, but she hadn't shown yet. It had taken a great deal to track her down and, despite what Childs had said, her information hadn't been lost in the chaos of the Human-Covenant War. Trent frowned briefly, thinking of Childs. He'd had to put up a bit of a fight with the commander to get some time off. Which was ridiculous, considering he'd been fighting the Flood for almost three months straight at this point.

Trent's frown deepened as he stared at the table and his thoughts continued to darken. After the nightmarish incident aboard the _Icarus_ and then the _Darkwind_, both of which had been lost to the void, Trent expected things to heat right up. He expected Eric to wake up, expected to go full force against the Black Ops, expected to clean house. Only none of that had happened. Eric was _still _in a coma even now and the Black Ops had completely disappeared. The only thing they'd manage to accomplish was to prove to ONI that Black Ops had gone rogue.

Instead, Trent spent the next three months running missions. When the irregular stuff dried up, he took to hanging out with the Yellowjackets, hosing down ships and installations infested by the Flood. He thought about Blake and the hellish incident aboard the _Erebus_ two weeks ago. What a nightmare that had been.

"Need more soda?" Trent glanced up. The cute, young waitress was hovering at the edge of his booth again, smiling and leaning forward just a little, flashing her cleavage. She was maybe twenty and it spoke of how old Trent felt now when he found himself hesitating on that bit of speculation alone. He was twenty five, dammit, not in his late forties, like he sometimes felt. He smiled up at her, declined and thanked her, then watched her ass, clad in tight jeans, as she walked away. If he was here for any other reason...

Trent reflected on himself interestedly at that thought. Not even six months ago, he had been almost literally a different person. At first, there hadn't been many differences between Jason DuPree and Trent Temple. But now? Jason DuPree didn't really give a shit how he looked. He kept himself in shape, but for the sole purpose of being able to more effectively kill enemies. That, and working out was a good way to pass the time. Jason was shy and socially awkward, who's friends and girlfriends numbered below half a dozen.

Trent Temple, on the other hand, had realized something one day while looking in the mirror. He _didn't_ look like shit. In fact, he might actually be somewhere in the ballpark of attractive. Trent had been wrestling with that fact for a while, because one holdover from Jason's era was that he did _not_ want to become cocky or arrogant. However, after so long of thinking that you looked like shit, that the opposite sex didn't really want anything to do with you...it felt good, _damned_ good, to think that maybe, just maybe, that might not be true.

As a result, Trent was in the best shape of his life. He kept his dark hair buzzed and now, instead of shaving his face bald, buzzed it as well, keeping a permanent few centimeters of dark stubble on his jaw. He flirted with women, he had flings and one-night-stands. On top of the morphine, he now smoked weed on a regular basis and had developed an acquired taste for adrenaline stimulants. Some part of him thought that this behavior might not be productive, or even safe, but the rest of him was having too much fun to care.

Trent glanced up, his thoughts broken, as the door to the diner opened once more. He felt his chest tighten in nervous apprehension as she walked in, looking around for a moment, then went and sat in a booth by the window. Trent drummed his fingers on the tabletop for a moment, chewed on his lip. It had been a long time indeed since he'd been nervous like this. He considered just leaving. He'd already paid his bill, he could do it.

No. Trent made himself calm down and stood up. He crossed the diner and slipped into the booth opposite of her. She glanced up curiously as he did so and apprehension fell across her face like storm clouds over a plain.

"Can I help you?" she asked, her voice strained but polite.

"Hello Lindsay," Trent replied. Her tension went up another notch, but he could tell she was still trying not to make a scene by playing the diplomat. She always was concerned about appearances, about the social contract.

"Do I know you?" she asked.

"You did, once." Trent paused, staring at her intently, wondering if she might recognize him. His face was different, he was much more cut with muscle than he used to be, even his eyes were different. But his voice wasn't. And a flicker of recognition seemed to shoot through her eyes. She hesitated before speaking.

"Did we...go to high school together? Your voice..." Trent smiled and clasped his hands together on the tabletop.

"We did," he confirmed. Lindsay seemed to relax and now seemed more curious than anything else. He waited. He'd waited a while to do this, he could wait a few minutes more.

"Are you..." Her eyes widened suddenly. "No, you couldn't be. He..." She trailed off, staring at him intently now.

"Tell me who you think I am," Trent replied.

"I think...you might be...No. There's no way. You're not Jason." Trent smiled wider now and Lindsay shifted uncomfortable.

"I'm afraid that I am." She shifted again and the waitress came over. She looked sadly at Trent, then disapprovingly at Lindsay. When she asked what she could get Lindsay, her voice was terse and unpleasant, and she disappeared almost as soon as she could.

"Bitch," Lindsay muttered, watching her go. She returned her attention to Trent. "Prove that you're Jason," she said finally.

"Okay. You took my virginity in high school, in the bathroom on the second floor, next to Miss Fieldman's classroom." A few people glanced over and Lindsay immediately began to blush uncomfortably, carefully not looking around.

"Alright, alright, Jason. Christ, keep your voice down." She shook her head, disbelievingly. "So what...you just show up in my life out of the blue, looking _completely_ different, I might add, for...what reason? Why now? I saw you on the news, you know. That interview you did about the Elites. I thought I might try to find you after that, but when I started asking around I got stonewalled. Said you'd been called away on some important mission or just that you were unavailable."

"Why did you want to find me?" Trent asked. Lindsay chewed on her lip uncomfortably and in that moment Trent felt an immense pain spear him, a long loneliness riding in on a frequency of adrenaline and despair.

"Maybe...to apologize," she murmured. Trent stared at Lindsay for a long moment. Here was the woman that he had fallen in love with, given his virginity to. The woman he'd been willing to call his wife, to move in with, to spend the rest of his days with. Here was the woman that had broken his heart and nearly driven him to suicide. The woman who had broken his mind, the effects of which were still being felt to this very day.

Did he have it in him to accept her apology? To forgive her? Lindsay had given him a great deal of pain, what felt like a lifetime's worth of misery and suffering, anguish and torture. Trent had come a long way from trying to kill himself, but he was quite a long way from feeling completely at ease with himself.

"Just tell me something..." he said finally, quietly. Lindsay leaned in. "Why'd you do it? And be honest. I just want the truth." She leaned back out, pain hitting her gaze like lightning, and she looked away from him, down at her hands for several moments before speaking.

"Maybe...we should take a walk," she said. Trent nodded. They stood and left the diner, then began a slow stroll down the street. Lindsay began to speak.

"To be completely honest, the reason I gave you on...that fateful day, was mostly true. I...I did love you, a lot. But, at least half the time you seemed so...closed off, emotionally. You wouldn't let me in, you wouldn't tell me what you were thinking, what you were feeling...it made me feel worthless, like I wasn't good enough for you. Pain is the biggest power of love, Jason...you made me realize that. I was in pain, emotionally, for...weeks, months. I was miserable. But that wasn't all of it. That wasn't the whole thing." She fell silent once more, collecting her thoughts. They stopped at a small park and sat across from each other once more, this time over a table outdoors.

"But the ugly truth? The heart of the matter? I was scared. You were my first, Jason. And, up to then, my _only_. I...all my friends were still serial dating, only Jenny had made the big jump and actually moved in with her boyfriend after she graduated. But...we were _engaged_, Jason. We were going to be _married_. The thought that you were going to be the only person I would ever have sex with in my entire life...it consumed me. At first the sex was great, by the time we moved in together, it was routine, but still good..." She reached out suddenly and took his hands in hers. The move startled him, but he found a quantum of comfort in her smooth, warm grasp, still familiar even after all this time, after all these years.

"Don't ever think that I did what I did because I hated you, or because the sex was bad or I was no longer attracted to you. Never think that I was _trying_ to hurt you. I know that our intentions don't really matter, that, in the end, what really matters is the _result_, but still...I couldn't stand the thought of you thinking I'd been trying to hurt you. I just...I wanted, _needed_, to try it with other people. I just...it seemed imperative at the time. It seems stupid now, obviously. I sacrificed what could have been a great, stable life with a man that I loved for an hour of exhilaration with a man I came to hate with all my soul..."

Her words cut at him, even though that wasn't the intention, but Trent remained silent. He was beginning to think that this was a real mistake, but another part of him was thinking that this was a long time coming, a necessary step in a process of healing that had been going on for six years now. He listened intently as she kept going.

"So that's the honest truth, Jason. I was afraid of commitment. I should have broken up with you, I see that now. I should have just broken it off, gone on a sexual bender for a few months, and then come back to you and hoped that you loved me enough to take me back. Or maybe I should have just talked to you about it, given you the 'we should see other people' speech...but it's far, far too late for anything like we once had, I'm afraid."

Trent suddenly became aware of something pressing against his hand, something not with the texture of skin but of metal. It was on one of her fingers. He glanced down and spied the narrow band of gold, tipped with a diamond. How had he missed it earlier? She followed his gaze, then took her hands away.

"How long?" he asked after a moment.

"About a year now," she murmured.

"Is he good to you?" She'd been looking down at the table, but now she looked up at him and he realized there were unshed tears in her eyes. She sniffed suddenly and wiped at them with the back of her hand, laughing softly.

"Yes. He's good to me, Jason. We dated for about a year, got engaged for three months, then got married..." she hesitated for a few seconds, her eyes darting towards his own ring finger, then coming back up. "What about you?" she asked.

"I'm single," he murmured. "There was..." He considered telling her about Melissa, about Veronica and her thick, pale thighs, about Linda and her wonderful, tall, lithe body and bloodred hair. He considered, briefly, telling her about the string of Yellowjacket women he'd slept with in the past few months, about their fit, flexible bodies and how willing they were...

"There was someone, last year. She was the first since you and we had a thing for six months but...we just couldn't do it. I-we both had...problems."

"Oh, Jason...I'm sorry to hear that. I don't want you to be unhappy. I mean, I know a lot of guys think that, about their exes, and maybe its true for some but...well," she laughed uncomfortably. "I never wanted to hurt you."

"Do you still feel like apologizing?" Trent asked.

"Yes! _God_ yes! I'm so sorry I hurt you, Jason. I know it ruined _my_ life for at least a few years and...I know it couldn't have been easy for you." Trent shook his head.

"No, it wasn't," was all he said to that. Then, after a moment, "I forgive you...and _I'm_ sorry, for being a crappy fiancee. And for, well, you know, threatening to kill you." Lindsay laughed easily.

"Oh, don't sweat _that_. I'd have probably done the same thing if our roles were reversed, honestly. I might be having doubts, but, dammit you were still_ mine_." They both laughed and then fell silent.

"Well, I forgive you, too, Jason. Though you got the shit end of the deal, really...so what have you been up to lately? Why do you look so...different? And when did you get into such good shape? I mean, you looked good during that interview last year, but you're _ripped_ now. It's kinda weird, though. You're like really fit without being bulky, like those godawful bodybuilders." Trent laughed and found himself heading towards blushing himself. He supposed Jason hadn't completely departed yet. He shrugged.

"I just...I've been doing a lot of stuff. Have you heard of the Yellowjackets?" She shook her head. "It's a company of ODSTs, volunteer only, that was formed just after the war ended. We go and clean out Flood infestations." Her eyes widened.

"That sounds..._really_ dangerous." He shrugged uneasily again. It was a lie, but it was close enough to the truth that he could live with it.

"It is. One mission recently went very pear-shaped. Everyone died but me and this one kid..." he sighed. "But I finally got some time off, figured it might be high time to come and find you. Maybe...get some closure." Lindsay nodded.

"Yeah, I thought I might see you one day. I _hoped_ I would." They sat for a long time after that, just looking at each other in silence. Finally, Lindsay broke the quietude.

"So...this is goodbye, then?" she asked softly. Trent nodded sadly, feeling his eyes beginning to burn.

"Yeah, I guess so. I think...that would be best," he replied. She looked at him with a lonely longing for a few seconds, then they both stood. Trent lingered awkwardly, not sure what to do but just turn around and walk away. He was getting ready to do just that when Lindsay suddenly grabbed him by the wrist, leaned in and kissed him firmly on the lips. He was so surprised that he hardly had a time to register what was happening when she let him go.

"Goodbye, Jason." She turned and walked away. He watched her go, smiling sadly. She didn't look back. She walked out of sight, turning onto another street, and she was gone out of his life. Trent reached into his pocket after a moment, pulled out a Yeheyuan and his zippo. He lit up, turned, shoved his hands into his pockets and began walking away.

* * *

Trent walked to the local starport and pulled his military rank out, getting a first class seat on the first flight to Thule. It began to rain as he walked onto the shuttle with the others and when he strapped into his seat, he stared out of the window at the gray gloom and the water streaking down the glass. Since encountering Tech N9ne during his time hunting down Jason Voorhees, Trent had become addicted to the long-dead wordsmith. As a result, he bought an audio player and wireless headphones and loaded it up with every song the man had ever made.

Trent was despairing when he took off, and as a result threw on The Rain (Welcome Back, Party Hard). But by the time the flight to Thule was coming to a close, he found himself listening to Slacker again and smiling, fondly remembering MacReady, Windows and the others. The weed and the good cooking. The isolation of the outpost.

Trent landed on Thule during the midday and requisitioned a civilian grade Mongoose from the starport. Then, he took to the road, driving for three hours across mostly open country and some forests to reach his destination.

Outpost 31.

As he saw it appear down the road, Trent killed the radio and replaced the wireless earbuds in his pocket. Lindsay had taken a lot out of him. He hadn't felt so emotionally stressed out since coming out of his own mind and discovering that Veronica wanted to break up with him. Trent realized that this felt a lot like that, although he wasn't nearly as angry or upset. He just wanted a break. He pulled up to the perimeter fence of Outpost 31 and slowly got up off the Mongoose. Trent stood and popped his neck, back and shoulders, happy to be done driving.

The sun was dying by then, heading toward its perennial grave just beyond the horizon. A cool but comfortable breeze whispered between the trees. Trent was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt still, though he'd held onto his combat boots out of habit. He began to walk up to the fence, but saw that someone was already coming out to greet him.

MacReady looked weird without his big, bushy beard and sunglasses. But the half-empty bottle of J&B looked right at home in his hand.

"...Trent?!" he managed. Trent laughed easily, already starting to feel better.

"Hey, Mac, how you doing?" MacReady laughed wildly, then leaned back into the front entryway and called, "Hey guys! Trent's back! Get your asses out here!" Without waiting for them to come, he walked forward hurriedly to open up the fence.

"Holy shit man, it's good to see you. Radar pinged someone coming up the road and we don't get many visitors. Decided I'd come out and see what was what...never expected in a million years to see you again, man!" He grabbed Trent's hand and shook it eagerly, then offered him the bottle.

"Trade you a swig for a cig," he said. Trent laughed and fished out a Yeheyuan, then passed it to MacReady. After taking a swig of the J&B, finding it as strong as ever, he pulled out his zippo and lit the man's cigarette for him. MacReady took a big breath and blew out a perfect blue smoke ring, then let out a long sigh.

"Ah, that's good. Ever since you've left I've been craving that brand but they don't sell them out this way. I've been arguing with Command to get me some but," he shrugged. "What can you do?" Both he and Trent turned to look as the others emerged from the base. Trent was surprised to see that they hadn't added anyone to the roster for Outpost 31, since three of the seven members had died during his last time there.

Windows, Parnevik and Lavelle came out into the twilight and wore easy grins when they spied Trent. He greeted each of them in turn, shaking Parnevik's and Lavelle's hands, and being swept up into an unexpected bear hug by Windows. The bushy-haired, sunglasses wearing comms tech reeked of weed and still wore his permanent smile.

"My _God_, it's good to see you, brother!" Windows cried. He slapped Trent on the back a few times before letting him go.

"So, what've you guys been up to, no one else got assigned to the outpost?" MacReady shook his head and pushed the gate the rest of the way open. Trent settled onto the Mongoose and began to bring it in, so he could secure it in the garage.

"Nope. Just us. Command's been getting a little tight with the resources lately. Though, to be fair, Lavelle here _is_ a jack-of-all-trades. He pretty much picks up what little slack was left behind. I mean, to be completely honest, Pace and Norris were more or less useless. I mean, we never needed any security and anything Norris could do, Windows and Lavelle could do. Better, too. Not to say that we don't miss them, we do. Clarke was probably the most useful guy here...but not in Command's eyes. The figured we could live without a chef."

Trent felt for them as he parked the Mongoose in the garage. They secured the gate, then the garage behind him. The five men began to head into the base.

"Which, I suppose, we have lived without Clarke. But we've all picked up the slack in that department. He left all his recipes behind, so we make due. And Lavelle knows how to garden, so he took over Pace's garden. So what about you, what the hell have you been up to?" Trent chuckled.

"Cook me some dinner, get me some weed, and I will be _happy _to regale you all with tales of my many exploits," he replied happily.

* * *

They ate dinner and, despite what MacReady said, the man could cook. They had steak, eggs and mashed potatoes. Trent caught them up on the stuff he could tell them and the stuff he couldn't. For a reason he had never quite been able to discern, he trusted these men. He realized, as he laughed so hard he nearly choked and ate the best meal he'd had in months, that Outpost 31 was the closest thing he had to a home now.

The night kept going after dinner. He toked it up with Windows and listened to a lot of Tech N9ne. He hung out with Parnevik in the infirmary where he fussed over his medical equipment and told Trent about an awkward relationship he'd begun with another medic stationed at a base fifty miles to the north. When Parnevik ran out of things to say and said that he wanted to go and have his usual nightly chat with the medic, Trent wished him luck and hunted down Lavelle, who was stationed in the garage, building...something.

They talked for a while, but even Trent could tell that Lavelle's mind had difficulty hanging on to a conversation when he was busy, which he often was. Midnight found Trent and MacReady sitting on the roof of Outpost 31, passing a new bottle of J&B back and forth. Trent was filling Mac in on his encounter with Lindsay, which he hadn't brought up during dinner.

"So how do you feel about it? And really, don't BS me, friend-o," he asked after Trent had finished the story and he'd had a moment to mull over it.

"Honestly? Like dirt, but also relieved. I feel like...I've been poisoned for a long, long time, and I finally started taking the treatments to get cured. I won't be up to snuff right away...but I'm on the road to recovery, you know what I mean?"

"I know _exactly_ what you mean, my friend. Well put. You're pretty well-spoken, you know that?" Trent laughed and shrugged.

"Can't say I agree with you. I'm just a dumb soldier, I'm afraid." MacReady chuckled and playfully punched him in the shoulder, spilling some of the J&B.

"Bull_shit _you say! You've got a brain, at least own up to it. But...this is good, man. This chick, this Lindsay, she _really_ messed you up. You'll probably never been back to what you were, to tell you God's honest, but..." he shrugged. "That isn't always a bad thing, you know? You can't escape your past, but you _can_ make peace with it. Sounds like you're making some peace. Now, if you can just make peace with that other girl...what was her name..."

"Veronica?"

"Yeah. _And_ Melissa...heh, do you get serious with_ every_ girl you shack up with?"

"No! Not...not _all_ of them..."

"Ha! You're a hopeless romantic Trent."

"Hey! I banged ten women over the past few months and it never went past just a few rolls in the hay! Well...you know...for the most part..." MacReady laughed long and loud, then killed the rest of the J&B. He stared at it contemplatively for several moments. Trent found the Thule night air comfortable, probably around sixty degrees. He felt he could've slept out here on the roof if he had a bed. MacReady began to crawl slowly to his feet. He swayed when he finally stood.

"Looks like we need some fresh booze, and maybe to hit up Windows for a joint or six. Nothing quite like getting stoned while you're drunk," he declared. Trent couldn't agree more and stood himself. He slipped his hands into his pockets, then hesitated.

"Hey, Mac...before we go...there's something I got to do," he said, sobering up a little. MacReady turned to look at him curiously. Trent reached deeper into his pocket and pulled out one of the three objects that he never let out of his sight. He pulled out Lindsay's picture and looked at it forlornly. MacReady came over.

"That's Lindsay, huh?" Trent nodded.

"Yeah, back when we were young and stupid and engaged." He reached into his pocket and pulled out another object he never let out of his sight anymore. His stylized zippo. He flicked it open and lit the flame, then applied it to the corner of Lindsay's picture. MacReady watched him do this without comment. Trent held onto the picture for as long as he could, watching it curl as the flames consumed it. By the time he let go of it, there was little left but ashes, dancing in the cool Thulian breeze.

"Goodbye, Lindsay," he whispered. He snapped the jaws of the zippo shut and replaced it in his pocket. He turned, hesitated briefly, then, he started walking. MacReady joined him. They made for the hatch that led to the roof from the garage, and Trent was in the middle of wondering just how he was going to navigate the ladder drunkenly when the hatch popped open. Windows's bushy hair came out first, followed by his head. He looked around and locked onto the two men.

"Hey, Trent. Uh, I think your boss wants to talk with you." Trent blinked.

"Childs?"

"Yeah, that's him." Trent frowned as he began to go down the ladder, followed by Mac.

"How'd he find me?" he mumbled. He wasn't ready to come back yet, but, then again, he didn't exactly have the kind of job that you could get solid leave from. If Childs needed you, he needed you, there was no way around it. Carefully, with great deliberation, Trent and MacReady managed to navigate the ladder and then the base. The three men came to stand in the comms room, which reeked of weed. Childs's head and shoulders were on one of the screens.

"Trent! Where the _hell_ have you been? We've got a situation here! I need you back right now. I'm on my way to you as we speak and I should be in orbit over the Outpost in ten hours. I expect you to be sober when the Pelican comes down for you."

"Alright, boss," Trent replied. Childs disappeared from the screen before Trent could ask him what was up, not that he'd answer anyway. "Guess that means I should get some sleep," he mumbled. MacReady nodded.

"Come on, you can stay in the room you slept in last time. Sleep off that booze." Trent nodded and allowed them to lead him to the dormitories. He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow and when he opened his eyes, what felt like a few seconds later, sunshine was streaming in through the window and Mac was banging on the door. Apparently the Pelican had arrived. Trent sat up and moaned, clutching at his head.

"I'm coming!" he called. He stood and made his way out into the corridor, squinting and trying to ignore the pounding in his head. All four of the inhabitants came to see him off before he left. Windows gave him a bag with almost a dozen and a half freshly-rolled joints, containing what Windows confided was his best batch yet. MacReady handed him a brand new bottle of J&B Rare Scotch and wished him luck.

Through a haze of hangover, Trent stepped onto the Pelican and began to head back to his responsibilities.

It was time to get back to work.


	2. Laid To Rest

_**Chapter 02  
**__-Laid To Rest-_

On the way back to the ship, Trent pulled out one of the joints Windows had rolled for him and smoked it. He began to feel better, his headache eased, his hangover dulled. He knew he needed a shower and a shot of adrenaline before he felt ship shape again. The Pelican finally ceased its dull rumbling as it left Thule's atmosphere. Trent laid his head back against the stilled bulkhead and closed his eyes, just waiting. He wasn't exactly eager to get back to work, he felt that he hadn't had enough of a break and would have liked to have spent at least another few days with the men of Outpost 31. But Childs had called, and there was no arguing with him.

A moment later, the dull _clang_ of the landing gear sounded, letting Trent know they weren't far from the ship. He opened his eyes and glanced out the window, then froze. It wasn't the sleek, dark little _Sunstrider_ he was looking at. This was something completely different, something at least three times the size of the _Sunstrider_ and a whole hell of a lot meaner. It was big black and ugly, large as life and twice as mean looking.

The Pelican slid slowly into the hangar and Trent felt a momentary terror that he'd been somehow tricked and it was, in fact, the Black Ops come to pick him up. He realized it was entirely possible and began to seriously panic as the back ramp started to open. But Childs was waiting there at the base of the ramp, unsmiling with his hands clasped behind his back.

"Come on, Trent, hurry it up," he said impatiently. Trent stood, swayed slightly, then walked down the ramp and joined Childs. They hustled across the hangar, which was busy with activity. Dozens of technicians in black jumpsuits bearing the ONI symbol on their chests, as well as Marines wearing the same thing, unloaded crates, worked on vehicles and generally appeared to have worked themselves into a frenzy.

"So...what's going on?" Trent asked as they plunged into a network of brightly lit, freshly polished corridors.

"Hmm? Oh, the ship. Welcome to the _Eclipse_. I managed to talk ONI into getting me a bigger, better ship after what happened with the _Darkwind_. She's got a hell of a lot more firepower and she can hold her own in a fight. But the important thing is that we've finally proven Black Ops has gone rogue. ONI is now supporting us full force."

"Does that mean we're finally going after Black Ops?" Trent asked hopefully. The bastards had caused him enough grief lately, he was eager to return the favor. Childs shook his head impatiently.

"No, not yet. Not right away. I'll explain everything to you later but, for the moment, I need you for something else." They turned into an infirmary and Trent frowned. Eric Staccato was in the same position he had been three months ago when Trent had carried him onboard and the medics had laid him out on the examination table. He looked frail and pale beneath the blanket, several tubes hooked into him.

At first, Trent had thought he'd just passed out from exhaustion, or perhaps from some strange side effect from the Marker. Unfortunately, they'd been able to determine that it was much worse than that. While it was true that the Marker was the cause of his coma, Childs explained that Eric was mentally unstable, much in the same way as Trent had been. _Un_like Trent, however, Eric had never found a viable cure for it. The Marker had affected his instability and pushed him over the edge in a way no one had been able to figure out yet.

Following the back-to-back experiences of psychosis both in Silent Hill and aboard the _Icarus_, Trent had panicked and made Childs run a full battery of tests on him to make sure he was still sound. After a few days, they finally determined that he wasn't going to crack up again and that _anyone_ would've had psychotic experiences in Silent Hill or in close proximity to the Marker. Trent had been immensely relieved.

At the time, when they were trying to bring Eric out of his coma, Trent had asked the very simple question of: why not use the same machine that he had used to cure his own insanity? Childs had explained, sadly, that the odds of survival were too low to risk and they were forced to explore other options.

Had they finally found another option?

"So...what's up?" Trent asked uncomfortably. Wordlessly, Childs motioned to one of the medics, who, just as wordlessly, hurried over to Trent and injected something in his neck. "Ow!" he cried. "What the shit was that for?!"

"You're high and hungover," Childs replied bluntly. "We need you not to be. That was a purge, get all that crap out of your system in a hurry. Now, pay attention." He turned and Trent followed his gaze. A pair of medical technicians were wheeling out what he recognized to be the same machine he'd used to cure his insanity.

"I thought you said it was too dangerous for Eric," he said as they began to hook it up to the unconscious man. Childs shook his head.

"I did and it is. That's what I've had the ONI R&D boys working on for the past few months: a way to allow not only someone to go into their own mind, but for someone to _join_ them. Eric is...too broken to attempt a mental repair on his own. _But_, if he had help, say, someone who's been through something like this before, someone he trusts...someone like _you_, Trent, his odds of survival increase significantly." Trent sighed quietly and cross the infirmary. He came to Eric's bedside and stared down at him for a moment.

Trent and Eric had fought and bled together. Trent had heard it said, often, that there was no greater bonding experience than war, that having someone who was willing to take a bullet for you or have your back in a firefight was more important than having a spouse. And while Trent valued female companionship quite highly, he knew that he valued Eric's, Cann's and Enzo's friendship even higher. He realized, suddenly, that he missed Enzo.

"So, you want me to go in there with him, huh?" he asked.

"Yes. It will be very dangerous, but I think you can do it and, frankly, I need both of you back up to snuff. Shit's about to get very real."

"What's happening?"

"I told you, later. I need you to lay down and jack in for the moment. Before you do, however, listen up. This is as close to an intel briefing as I can get. When Eric was much younger, he experienced something extremely traumatic. I'm not sure what it was, I couldn't get into his files, even with my clearance. I think he put some kind of special lock on them..." Childs sighed in frustration, then continued. "The point is, what I _could_ find out was that the experience result in him getting shot in the head. He survived, but ended up with frequent migraines as a result. Ultimately, it was determined that the headaches were a result of the psychological damage of the incident, rather than the physical, so they could never be cured." Trent considered this for a moment.

"Anything else? Like what I might be looking for in there?" he asked. Childs shook his head.

"That's all we've got." Trent sighed quietly and laid down on the examination table they wheeled over. He felt the soft prick of the needle sliding into his arm, then he was out.

* * *

Trent awoke to the sounds of war and chaos. His eyes snapped open and he sat up. He was in a dark room, lit only by the hellish, flickering glare of fires that roared beyond the two windows set into the far wall. The room was empty, just a concrete chamber. Trent rose lithely to his feet and looked around. When his gaze passed back over to the window, he jumped slightly, startled by the sudden appearance of a man who hadn't been there before.

Price was long and lean, dressed in his familiar camouflage fatigues. Pistol on his hip, silenced, stubby sniper rifle in his grasp. He was smoking a cigar, leaning against the wall and staring out the window.

"Your friend, Staccato. He's in hell right now...we're gonna walk him out," Price said without looking over. Trent joined him and looked out the window. Beyond the cracked, dirty glasses was a vision of horror. A colony burned. Pillars of smoke and ashes rose into the air and huge purple Covenant cruisers hung overhead. Distantly, Trent could hear the sounds of plasma fire and the screams of the dying.

"You know where he is?" Price grunted and nodded.

"Yeah. He's about half a klik east, alone and unarmed, in no fighting shape. We need to get to him fast. Come on, your gear's in the other room." Price led him through the only door in the area into another room. It was very similar to the one they'd just come from, save that it had a table with ODST armor and a silenced arsenal on it. Trent began to slip into his armor, finding it strange just how quickly he had grasped the situation.

The last time he was inside someone's head, he'd been confused, disoriented. Perhaps it was the fact that it wasn't his own head this time around. Trent secured his helmet, holstered the pistol and grabbed the silenced SMG.

"Let's go," Trent said. Price nodded. They exited through another door and hurried down a stairwell. Trent felt a familiar adrenaline rush as he stared out the broken-in front door of the building and spied a contingent of Elites across the street. It was raining, which did nothing to smother the flames that consumed half the colony. They slipped past the Covenant patrol and into an alleyway, making their way along the rain-slicked network.

There were no words between the two men as they hustled down the narrow, crooked alleys, in between ruined, derelict and sometimes burning buildings. Trent felt back in his element again. Price and him had done things like this before, infiltrating Covenant-controlled cities to preform a high-risk, high-profile assassination. As they snuck past patrols and took down the occasional enemy, Trent found himself wondering about the real Price. It suddenly occurred to him that if he wanted to, he could track the man down.

If he was even still alive. Trent sighed and focused. If he didn't pay attention, _he_ was going to end up dead. Him and Eric. Trent wondered what could have possibly happened to Eric that left him so traumatized. It did help to finally have an explanation for the frequent headaches. Trent sympathized with people who got headaches. He'd gone through a period all his own after Basic where he'd experienced a cluster of nightmarish migraines.

"There," Price whispered. They crouched in the mouth of a garbage-strewn alleyway, staring up at a dilapidated apartment building. Just a single length of street in between them. Trent glanced left, then right, found both directions empty. They hurried through the pouring rain across the street and slipped into the lobby.

"Clear left," Price murmured.

"Clear right," Trent replied. The lobby was empty, a burnt-out wreck. The pair silently exited the lobby, located a stairwell and hustled up it to the second floor. Up above, they could hear sounds. Shouting in guttural, alien voices. Furniture being overturned. Trent hesitated, looking up the stairwell to third floor. Price put a restrictive hand on his shoulder. Trent glanced over, Price shook his head firmly.

"Don't do anything stupid, lad. Come on." They went down the corridor and pushed into one of the abandoned apartments. The place was a complete wreck. Furniture broken, windows shattered, carpet stained with blood. The walls were marked with plasma scarring. The Covenant had come and gone here.

They found Eric standing by one of the windows, chewing on his fingernails, staring out at the destruction and fiery desolation. Price guarded the door while Trent crossed the room, coming to stand next to him.

"Eric...do you recognize me?" he asked. Eric jumped, startled, and turned to start at him with wide, moist eyes.

"...Trent...why are you?" He didn't wait for an answer, instead shaking his head. "You can't help me," he mumbled. "No one can. That's why I'm here." He began to cry suddenly and Trent felt awkward. It was obvious no one was ever meant to see this. Everyone had moments of weakness, moments of raw truth when the armor you wore collapsed. All you could do was hope that whoever saw it would never try to use it against you.

"Eric, listen, I'm here to help you. I _can_ help you, okay? Whatever it is, you can tell me." Eric looked up at him in a moment of surprising clarity. He shook his head.

"I know where we are, Trent. I regret that you came here. Did Childs send you in with that machine of his? He must have, you're too lucid to be a memory." He chuckled bitterly, suddenly. "Memory...memory is the key that unlocks Pandora's Box, you know? It's about to happen, Trent. Don't try to stop me." Trent tensed, wondering what he was referring to, preparing for the worst. Overhead, the sounds of alien shouting intensified.

Abruptly, Trent's view shifted. He was staring up at a trio of Elites, all of them wielding plasma pistols, all of them grinning darkly in that weird way that Elites did. His view shifted again, he was looking over at a man and a woman lying on the ground, staring up in abject terror. Eric's parents. Trent suddenly realized this was a memory. One of the Elites, one in crimson armor, raised its plasma rifle. It leveled it at Eric's father's head, then squeezed the trigger. There was a bright pulse of light and his father went limp.

Eric's mother began screaming, but she was put down a few seconds later. Then the Elite turned the gun on Eric. Trent felt the same emotions Eric had that fateful date: insane terror, unimaginable despair, then, finally, numb apathy. He was going to die, he knew it. But before the Elite pulled the trigger, something exploded nearby. Then something else. The sound of gunfire, _human_ gunfire, could suddenly be heard.

The three Elites barked quick sentences at each other, then turned and hurried out of the room. Eric looked at his parent's corpses, then his eyes drifted across the room, to the pistol his father had bought for home protection that had proven to be useless. He tried to stand, but his legs were too rubbery. Eric got onto his hands and knees, slowly crawled towards the pistol. He reached it, grabbed it, picked it up.

Trent's view abruptly shifted once more. He was standing in the room with Eric, the two corpses on the floor now skeletons. Eric was staring at the pistol. They were alone.

"I tried to kill myself," he said calmly, emptily. "Didn't work. A couple of Marines found me, rescued me. They dug the slug out of my brain and the damage was repaired. But...the headaches stayed. They were the only physical symptom to showing how deeply I'd been broken. I think...once you reach the point where you try to kill yourself...you really shouldn't survive. The damage is too deep. You can't come back from that."

"That's bullshit and you know it, Eric," Trent replied suddenly. The reaction was so violent and immediate that Eric's gaze snapped up, his eyes locking with Trent's.

"Explain."

"I came back from the brink. I tried to kill myself, and yeah, I was messed up for years. But I'm finally dealing with the problems. And hell, you're tougher than I am. If _I_ can deal with this shit, I _know_ you can. I can help you."

"I...how? I've been trying to deal with this for ten years now..._how_ can I fix it? I've tried everything."

"That's the purpose of this machine! Those Elites...we need to track them down, kill them. They're the representation of the part of you that can't let go, the part of you so enticed by suicide, by ending it. Childs said it was too dangerous for you to go it alone, but that's why I'm here...please, let me help you, Eric." Eric hesitated, his eyes drifting back down to the pistol he was holding. Finally, he offered a sad laugh.

"You're an idiot, Trent. Surely our chances of survival aren't that much better with your help." Trent shrugged.

"Hey, long odds are our specialty, right? We're lucky. Scientifically proven. We got this." Eric laughed again, and some of the darkness was gone from his voice.

"Yeah, I suppose so. And...to be completely honest, part of me _does_ want to stay alive. I still got a bone to pick with Black Ops and...well, let's just say that it's been too long since I've had anything like a relationship...or a best friend, for that matter." He turned and stared out the window, he was silent for a long time.

"Alright, let's get these bastards," he said. Trent grinned. They left the apartment building, making their way back into the rain. For a moment, Trent wondered where Price was, but then spied a flashing light shining high up on one of the abandoned buildings. It was immediately followed by the crackle of his radio.

_"Hey, I got up to a higher perch while you and Eric were having your heart-to-heart. I've got a bead on the targets. They're about fifty meters down the street from you. Just went into another building. I'm heading across the rooftops, trying to get closer."_

"Who's that?" Eric murmured.

"A friend."

"Is he..."

"No. He's not real. Just my, ah, mental backup, I guess."

_"Har-har, very funny, lads,"_ Price muttered. Trent and Eric took off, sprinting down the street through the rain. They found the building the Elites had ducked into, a bombed-out general store. They were poking through the remains, looking for survivors. Trent and Eric stepped into the entryway, their weapons ready. A single laser-light poked through the gloom, centering on the head of one of the Elites. Trent's radio crackled with static.

_"I'm in position,"_ Price murmured. The Elites seemed to sense them. They turned around and stared silently at the pair. Eric, Trent and Price opened fire simultaneously. One Elite's head exploded in a vile plume of purple gore. Trent stitched a bloody line up the chest of the second one, leaving the crimson leader for Eric.

Eric was fast, shooting the plasma rifle out of its hand, then putting a bullet into each knee. The Elite collapsed to the ground, growling in pain. Eric walked closer, pistol pointed towards it. The Elite made a grab for the pistol. Eric put another bullet through its elbow, causing the arm to drop and hang at an awkward, broken angle. He shot it twice more, once in the gut, once in the shoulder. The Elite began to howl in pain, then.

Eric stood and listened for a while. Around them, the city began to shudder. Buildings crumbled and collapsed.

_"Time to go,"_ Price murmured. Trent walked up to Eric, stared down at the Elite.

"Finish it." Eric nodded tightly, put the pistol to its forehead and squeezed the trigger. The city continued to collapse around them, more violently now. Trent and Eric stumbled out into the street. Trent's vision was beginning to fade, going gray around the edges, then eventually fading to black. He felt his knees give out and he collapsed to the ground-

"-coming out of it now, sir."

"Both of them?"

"Yes, both of them." Trent groaned and opened his eyes. Childs and one of the medical techs were standing over him. Childs grinned.

"Looks like you did it. I'll give you both a chance to shower and shave, then I want you in Briefing Room Six."

"Thanks, boss," Eric mumbled. Trent glanced over. Eric looked like hell. His face was haggard, his hair and beard long and unkempt, but his eyes were vivid. When he sat up, he went about popping his neck, then froze midway through it. Trent stiffened as he sat up, worried something had gone wrong. Eric looked confused, then a little concerned.

"Something wrong?" Trent asked.

"My head..." Eric mumbled. "It...it doesn't hurt."

"Well...that was the idea." Eric shook his head and looked over at Trent.

"No, you don't understand. Ever since I woke up from that gunshot to the head, it's always hurt. _Always_. Mostly it's just a background buzz of pain, sometimes it's...a lot worse. But it's been consistent for ten years now. It's...gone. I feel like...I don't _know _what I feel like. I, uh...think I'll go take that shower now." He stood up, began walking across the bay, then stopped.

"Why aren't my muscles atrophied or anything? How long did you say I was in that bed?"

"Three months," one of the medics replied. "We've been regularly exercising your muscles with machines. You'll have lost some muscle mass, but nothing a few weeks hitting the gym shouldn't be able to take care of." Eric nodded them a thanks and disappeared out the door. Trent sat on the edge of his examination table, gently massaging his temples. It felt strange to have gone back into the machine again. He straightened up as he heard his name from somewhere across the room.

"Trent? Oh yeah, he's right in here. Over there." Trent stood and turned around, wondering who had coming looking for him. His eyes widened slightly.

"Enzo?"


	3. Armored

_**Chapter 03  
**-Armored-_

Trent gasped as Enzo swept him up in a hug that lifted his feet off the ground. He coughed and laughed.

"You gonna spin me around?" he asked. Enzo chuckled deeply and set Trent back on the ground, then placed his clawed hands on his shoulders.

"It is so _good_ to see you, Trent," he said. "How have you been? What have you been doing? It's so difficult to get information on you and the others! Ah, this secrecy!" Trent laughed easily and leaned back against the examination table.

"It's been...difficult. Mostly I've been operating with the Yellowjackets under Operation Floodgate. We've been cleaning out Flood infestations. You've heard of the Yellowjackets?" Enzo nodded.

"Yes, _that_ much has leaked back to me. I'm very interested in how you Humans are faring after the war. The Elites are, well..." he shrugged. "They're getting along. There's a great deal of social pressure in our race to repress our feelings. I believe it to be a holdover from our time with the Covenant, but it is...frustrating, to say the least. It is why I like you Humans so much. Everything is so...simple, with Humans." Trent began laughing. Enzo looked at him curious. "What?"

"Well, let's just say that...from my perspective at least...things are _not_ simple with Humans. Maybe you've just been hanging out with the right people but...I wouldn't call myself simple, to be honest."

"I find you simple, Trent. Honest and straightforward. It is part of why we are such good friends."

"I'll be honest, I never thought I'd be able to be best friends with an Elite..." It suddenly occurred to Trent that they weren't alone in the medical bay. While the medics and med techs had cleared out, another figure hung around awkwardly in the entryway. That and Trent could hear the shower that the infirmary came equipped with running.

"Kiza! I didn't know you both were back," Trent said.

"Oh!" Enzo cried. "Kiza, forgive me. I...it's been so long since I've seen Trent." Kiza smiled awkwardly and walked forward.

"It's okay," she said quietly. Then she smiled. "It's good to see you, Trent. Enzo has been missing you ever since we left. I have, too. I think I'm more comfortable around Humans than my own people."

"Well, it's good to see both of you. Maybe after this briefing we can catch up in depth. Has Childs been giving you the 'hurry up and wait' treatment?" They both nodded. Trent chuckled, then glanced over as the bathroom door opened. Eric stepped out, freshly showered, shaved and dressed in a new uniform. He stopped and looked at the trio.

"Holy shit, it's good to see you, Enzo," he said. The four of them spent a few moments exchanging pleasantries, but Trent could see the slight strain in Eric's stance. He now knew why the man had such a problem with Elites. After a moment, Enzo finally seemed to pick up on the hints that Eric was dropping.

"Well, Kiza and I shall proceed to the briefing room. We shall see you there," he said. Trent and Eric bade him farewell, then found themselves alone in the infirmary.

"What's up?" Trent asked. Eric shifted uncomfortably.

"It's just...I wanted to thank you, for what you did in there. In my head. I know it was...pretty dangerous. Childs downplays it, but honestly a lot of people that go in there don't come back. And...I'm bad at this kind of thing. Besides my one friend that Black Ops killed, I...haven't ever really had anyone I felt I could trust after my parents died."

"Eric, it wasn't that big a deal-"

"No, you don't get it. It _was_ that big a deal. There's no one I know that'd do that for me. I..." he sighed. "Look, let's just say, I consider you closer than a brother now. More than a best friend. Anything you want, anything, _ever_, you got it. You call, I come. Blank check. Do you understand me?" Trent wasn't exactly sure he entirely understood, but he found himself nodding.

"Good, that's all I'm going to say about it...now, come on. If we don't get to that briefing soon, Childs is going to shit his pants and who do you think he's going to make clean it up?" Trent suddenly burst out laughing, Eric joined in and just like that the tension was broken. They left the infirmary and hurried through the ship towards the briefing room, having to stop twice and ask for directions from a tech in black uniform.

Finally, they slipped into the dim, cool environs of Briefing Room Six and sat down across from Enzo and Kiza. Childs sat at the head of the table, looking flustered and irritable.

"Took your time..." he grumbled. "Alright, let's get right down to it. We're nearly there and you all still haven't had a chance to look over your new armor and get up to snuff. This kind of op really needs more prep but we're flying by the seat of our pants right now. We've been afforded an opportunity that we cannot afford to miss. Now, to answer a few questions. Eric, it's been about three months. There have been no major developments on Black Ops. They disappeared after the incident with the _Icarus_...until now.

"The reason we didn't go after them, even though we now have ONI's official backing, with a few strings...is because we haven't been able to find a _trace_ of Black Ops. There were prearranged meeting places, back when the Ops were legit, and they're all gone. A few of them were booby-trapped, even. All the known outposts or ships are abandoned or derelict or missing. All the databases have been wiped. No evidence of anything.

"However..." Childs drew the word out, leaning back in his chair. It creaked softly in the silent room, the sound seeming to echo. "We managed to catch a break. We picked up a distress call from Black Ops. It was encoded and a slim thing, but we got it. We chased the signal back to a moon in an empty system. The moon is called Lachrymal. It's a forest world where it rains about fifty percent of the time, hence the name."

The lights dimmed all the way and the holographic imager flickered to life. First, it showed a system with half a dozen planets. Then, it zoomed in on one sad-looking little moon. Then, it zoomed in once more to show a dilapidated facility.

"This is Downpour. In 2551, the UNSC discovered abandoned Forerunner ruins, just below the surface of the planet. Downpour was a research outpost constructed directly over the site. They cut into the ruins, only to discover that the Forerunner ruins were built over even _older_ ruins, deeper still, of unknown origins. Files from the...incident are unclear at best. Suffice to say that within three days, Downpour stopped reporting in.

"A team of Marines were sent to figure out what happened, figuring a Covenant invasion. Well, they didn't report back once they touched down and sent out some preliminary reports. A team of ODSTs were sent...and met a similar fate. Eventually, the UNSC just...abandoned the whole thing. They never got around to re-opening the investigation on the grounds that there was a war on. And, after that, well, we've been too busy rebuilding. And, probably because they're afraid. Hell, I know I am.

"So...from what we can gather based on long-range sensor readings and the distress call, Black Ops re-opened the site. And they encountered whatever it was that killed or disappeared or _whatever_ed the original UNSC researchers. Now, a Black Ops team _has_ responded. They were dropped off and the ship left, from what we can tell. So, besides some Black Ops soldiers, we honestly have no idea what you're going to run into down there. Mission objective is very clear, Survivors: figure out what the hell Black Ops is up to and try to dig up whatever data on them you can. I'll forward you all relevant data to look at on the way down. Any questions?"

"Is it just going to be the four of us?" Trent asked. Childs nodded.

"Yes. I'll be in contact, and I've got a team of Yellowjackets standing by, just in case. You spoke so highly of them I figured I might as well have a team of them hanging out."

"You said there were strings attached to ONI's support," Eric said. Childs's face turned grim and he nodded reluctantly.

"Yes. I'm afraid that _all_ Survivor operations are now being turned towards stopping Black Ops. So, basically, if Black Ops isn't involved in it, then neither are we. Which is unfortunate because I was forced to abandon several projects..."

"So, I mean, what is ONI actually _doing_ for us? Ships, men, funds...what kind of resources are they actually giving us?" Trent asked.

"I'll brief you all on _that_ after your mission." Trent suppressed a sigh and gave up. Childs would tell them more in his own time. They stood and filed out of the briefing room, navigating the ship in silence until they came to the armory.

"I've had new armor brought in for you all. Enzo, Kiza, I only managed to get some generic upgrades for yours, since I couldn't get into contact with you. Same for you, Eric, since you were in a coma. Trent, I managed to get all the upgrades you asked for. Start gearing up," Childs said, waving his hand to the four tables that contained the armor. He continued speaking as the four split up and began gearing up.

"On the more generic side, all of your armor is more lightweight, but also more reinforced. It will stop most bullets, stand up to a grenades or rocket blasts pretty well and they also come with shields now. They're comparable to Spartan-IV shields. Your Head's Up Display is more fine-tuned and you can now call up medical readouts on anyone in your team and you can switch between regular and thermal vision. Comms have also been tweaked and shouldn't crap out as much. But don't quote me on that. Strength and speed have been upped more than the regular armor provides, so try to move around in it for a bit first." Childs turned to face Trent.

"Now, Trent, your armor has a jetpack installed, but use it sparingly since that fuel can only be replaced between missions and your suit can't carry all that much of it. As you can see, your helmet emulates the latest version of the EVA variant that Spartan-IVs have access to. And, as you can see, it's been given a red tint for...whatever reason you wanted that." Trent grinned and fitted the helmet into place, turning away from them. Once it was secure, he turned to look back at that.

"Are you kidding me?" he replied. "Look how freaking creepy I look." Childs rolled his eyes but Eric and Enzo smiled.

"Gotta hand it to you, I'd shit myself if I had to put up with that on the battlefield," Eric replied.

"Truly you are a visage of terror," Enzo said. Trent laughed.

"Thanks guys. At least _someone_ appreciates flair on the battlefield." Childs sighed.

"Flair on the battlefield usually results in _death_ on the battlefield."

"Yeah. Exactly. Bad guy death."

"Finish up and head to Hangar Two. There's a Pelican waiting to take you to the surface. We've run scans the facility but the readings are off the charts. The good news is that no one's shooting at us, but...watch yourselves down there." Childs left. Trent began walking around the armory in his suit, getting used to the enhanced strength and dexterity.

"Damn, this is nice," he murmured.

"Yeah, I'm liking this. I feel like I could kick everyone's ass. I wonder if this is how Spartans feel like...twenty four, seven," Eric replied. They gathered up their arsenal. Trent grabbed his personal favorite sidearm, the SOCOM variant of the M6C, in all of its silenced glory. He was waffling on his primary weapon between the battle rifle and the shotgun when his eyes fell on something new. His eyes widened as he gently pulled it off the wall and stared at it.

"Holy shit...what is _this_?!" he whispered. Eric glanced over.

"Ah man! They finally released it? Yes! You are looking at a resurrection my friend. Say hello to the SAW."

"Saw?"

"Yeah, the Squad Assault Weapon. I know it's got some other kind of designation, but I've been following the development of this bastard for a little while ago. Misriah has been teasing this thing for half a year now, well, longer I guess, since I just fell asleep for three months. Man, I am _so_ using this thing! Is there another one...ah, yes, there." Eric grabbed a second SAW off the wall and began checking it out.

"You said a resurrection?" Trent asked.

"Huh? Oh yeah. SAWs used to be a big thing around the twentieth and twenty first century. But after that they kind of faded away with the advent of more powerful technology. Glad it's back," Eric replied, staring down the sights.

Trent loaded on up ammo and grenades, then turned to inspect the others. Enzo looked intimidating in his new bloodred armor, his face completely enclosed in the helmet with an ominous black visor across his eyes. Kiza looked good in her armor, Trent noted. Then found the thought strange. Not only because she and Enzo seemed to still be an item, but mainly because he'd always expected female Elites to be unattractive. She seemed to notice his gaze and glanced at him, he looked away awkwardly.

"Ready go to?" Trent asked.

"We are ready," Enzo replied.

They headed out, making for the bay.


	4. Downpour

_**Chapter 04  
**-Downpour-_

The Pelican trembled as it cleaved through the turbulence-stricken atmosphere of Lachrymal. The quartet of Survivors sat near the front of the holding bay, silently reviewing the information Childs had provided them with. None of the files from the original outpost had ever been transmitted or recovered. The same went for the Marine and ODST squads sent in, as something had cut off all transmissions upon arrival. Trent was hoping against hope that this was no longer the case, as the Black Ops had obviously been able to get a signal out.

He reviewed the map of the outpost, but it all looked pretty straightforward. They at least had _that_. It was a simple, two-story thing. Storage, hangar and data processing were all on the second story. Garage, dorms, messhall, rec room, infirmary and Forerunner access on the ground floor. LifeScan still showed nothing but a few faint traces that might have been glitches. Trent didn't like it. He would be flying completely blind in this situation. The suit and the SAW made him feel a little better, but there were some things you just couldn't kill with bullets.

He thought of the Executioner in Silent Hill, pointing at him as he made his narrow escape in the Pelican, and shuddered.

"Okay," he said, garnering the attention of the others. "It looks like there's three entrances into this place. It also looks like the power station is separate from the outpost, but not too far away. Eric, I want you to investigate the power station, then head into the east entrance and investigate the messhall and the dorms. Kiza, you take the west entrance, check out the garage, rec room and infirmary. Enzo and I will take the main entrance, investigate the lobby, then head up and tackle the second floor. We all meet at the lift to the Forerunner ruins. Questions?"

There were none. They were ready.

* * *

Trent glanced back once at the Pelican as its cargo ramp finished closing up. It sat there at the edge of the forest, nestled up against the treeline, looking lonely in the dark, rainy gloom. Its exterior lights were off, bathing the area in a deeper darkness. Up ahead, the derelict outpost loomed. It _did _have some lights on, punching holes in the immense darkness. As they approached the main entryway, Eric and Kiza split up and went around the sides of the buildings, securing the area as they went. Trent and Enzo entered the lobby.

There were large windows along the front wall. They were cracked and stained with old blood. The lobby had an immense air of abrupt abandonment to it. Rain and blood, new and old, stained the carpeted floor. Mold had grown in several areas, darkening the blue carpet. The pair split apart, checking out separate sides of the room, their flashlights cutting through the dim gloom. Trent moved behind a desk and found a large splash of old blood. He did a quick check in with Childs and found they still had contact.

The rain continued to pour outside and occasionally lightning cut through the night sky, followed shortly by a loud _crash_ of thunder. Trent and Enzo moved slowly, silently, through the lobby. They found no bodies, though signs of old battle were everywhere. Old bullet holes in the walls, long-ago spent shell casings on the floor.

And, of course, the blood. There seemed to be a great deal of it. As they cleared the area, then began to head up towards the second story via a stairwell at the far side of the room, Trent turned off the send function on his radio and had Enzo do the same, so they could speak candidly. They reached the second story, finding a small observation deck.

"So, Enzo...you and Kiza, how's that going?" he asked.

"Well. Very well, actually," Enzo replied, a little distracted. Trent pressed further.

"You've never, uh, mentioned any women in your life before. Did you...was there anyone before Kiza?"

"Yes, there was. I had one mate before Kiza, Ezri."

"Yeah...so...what happened?"

"Well...I...left, for the war. We had several happy years together, but produced no offspring. I didn't want to risk them growing up fatherless, as I had. I was called away to do battle. I...when the war ended, I attempted to get into contact with Ezri. Contact had been very sparse during the last six months of the war, and I was just too busy...even when I could get through, she was often busy, or the connection would be lost, something like that. We hadn't spoken in three months, the last three months of the war. When I finally got in touch with her, right after our mission on the Ark...she told me she thought I had died, that reports were total casualties at Earth and the Ark. And that she had...taken a new mate...

"It was another solider. Someone who had never been called away. Someone who had been...comforting her, recently. She said, 'He was there for me, during the hard times.' That's what she said. I could tell that, even though I yet lived, I was dead to her. I bade her goodbye, wished her luck and...busied myself in the work of cleansing your world of what Covenant remained. It's why I never went back."

"Holy shit, Enzo, I'm really sorry." Enzo shook his head.

"No. It's okay. To be...brutally honest, it is for the best. Ezri and I...we loved each other, but it was a...relationship of convenience, to be truthful. With Kiza, there is much more passion and love. And, well, Kiza is a warrior. She is capable. Ezri...was not."

"Not what? Capable? Or a warrior?" Trent asked. Enzo shrugged. Trent laughed. They continued to investigate the second story, finding it in much the same state as the lobby: sad, empty and bloody.

"So what kind of stuff did you do over there, in the Elite Survivor thing?" Trent asked, trying to move the conversation towards something brighter.

"A great deal of it was politics and polish..." Enzo sighed. "We investigated a few Forerunner ruins the Hierarchy thought might hold Flood or something else, but it was all a waste of my time." Enzo huffed in irritation. "And..." he hesitated. Trent glanced over at him.

"And what?"

"And, there have been...problems, among the Hierarchy." Enzo was clearly uncomfortable.

"Problems? What kind of problems?"

"There are some who would not keep the alliance between the Sangheili and the Humans."

"What? _Why_?"

"I'm not entirely sure. There are some who still believe in the Prophets' madness. Though the Covenant is broken, there are those who were so comforted by the security and normality of it that they would bring it back."

"Now there's a nasty thought..." Trent murmured.

_"Hey, I haven't heard any updates from Trent or Enzo for a while. Did you guys turn off your mics so you could talk bad about me? Or maybe you're just talking dirty to each other,"_ Eric said suddenly.

_"I wouldn't mind that,"_ Kiza said. Trent sighed and turned back on his mic.

"Why is it that all the women in my life like guy-on-guy?" he grumbled.

_"Why is it that all the men in my life like girl-on-girl?"_ she shot back. Trent laughed.

"I think she'll fit in just fine around here."

_"I'm sure Enzo already fit into her just fine,"_ Eric replied. Enzo began laughing.

"Alright, alright, anyone seen anything?" Trent asked.

_"No, nothing. Just blood and dust,"_ Kiza replied.

_"Same here,"_ Eric said. Trent sighed.

"Well, we're about done here. Just got the data processing center to investigate. We'll meet you at the lift."

Enzo and Trent stepped on either side of the door that led to data processing. Trent hit the access button and the door slid open. He figured Black Ops must've fired up the power station, or at least brought their own generators. He peered cautiously into data processing, where they had stored all the relevant information on everything they'd found. Part of him was eager to get into the database and find out just what had happened in 2551. Another part of him wanted to immediately leave Downpour, get on the Pelican and fly away from the moon.

For as abandoned as the outpost was, something permeated throughout its corridors and rooms. Something hung heavy on the air, something clung to the walls, the floor, the furniture. Like an invisible gas or a fine layer of dust, it seemed to choke the air. It wasn't a smell or a taste, but rather more of an emotion, or maybe just a notion.

Trent knew, in some basic way that men of action tended to _know_, that there was an ancient evil buried here. A force or entity so powerful, so malignant, that its sheer existence subverted reality itself, leaving a stain upon the fabric of the universe. Trent knew he was being observed, in a vague sort of way, by..._something_. He swallowed nervously as he began making his was slowly among the rows of desks and chairs.

Data processing was a silent as a tomb. No computers ran, no monitors were lit. Trent tried a few of them, but found them long dead. There were still no bodies, still old blood, splashed liberally across the walls, the floor, the ceiling. Trent finally located the main databanks at the back of the room in the form of huge pieces of equipment embedded in the wall. He told Enzo to stand guard while he hooked his suit wirelessly into the database. A few seconds passed, then he was given a clear view of the data.

He frowned, crestfallen. The internal network was a complete mess. Everything was scattered and fragmented, like furniture across a lawn after a particularly brutal thunderstorm. After wasting five minutes, Trent disgusted downloaded the database to his internal network and broke the connection, unable to retrieve anything from a cursory investigation. He would have to have Eric look at it when they got back.

"Alright, let's get out of here," Trent murmured, frustrated. While he might have hesitations about knowing what it was he was going to face off with, he always preferred to know the truth. One of the biggest enemies a man could face was ignorance. He and Enzo moved silently back through the second floor, locating a stairwell and returning to the first story. They navigated the silent, stricken outpost and finally linked up with Kiza and Eric.

"Anyone see anything?" Trent asked once more as he pushed the call button and waited for the lift to raise. The four of them took up defensive positions across the lift lobby, guns pointed towards the large cargo door, waiting, the tension building.

"No, but..." Eric hesitated.

"But what?"

"I kept...I feel like something's watching me, you know? We're not alone here, and I don't mean Black Ops, if they're even still alive." Trent nodded unhappily.

"I know what you mean. But we gotta suck it up. Scary shit is in the job description, I'm afraid." Eric chuckled.

"Yeah, I guess so." The cargo lift arrived, the doors opened. Trent blinked in surprise. The interior of the large lift was empty, but it was literally coated in fresh blood. There were a few centimeters of the stuff on the ground, it ran down the walls in rivulets and dripped from the ceiling. The four slowly approached the lift.

"This does _not _bode well," Kiza murmured. Trent nodded in a solemn, silent agreement. After a few more seconds of hesitation, the quartet stepped aboard the bloody lift and rode it down into the dark depths of the earth.


	5. Shadows

_**Chapter 05  
**-Shadows-_

"Childs, this is Trent. We're entering the Forerunner facility now. Several signs of conflict, both old and new, but no signs of life yet. The UNSC database was scrambled, but I had Eric download it anyone to see if we could discern anything useful from it later."

_"Roger that, Trent. Contact is still strong. Keep at it."_

The elevator continued to descend into the earth. Trent shifted uneasily, making the blood squelch beneath his boots. The sense of malignant evil failed to abate as they went lower. If anything, it was getting worse. No one spoke as the lift continued with an almost perfect silence. Trent was impressed with how well the machinery had held up in the years since the outpost had been abandoned, as the lift was Human, not Forerunner, in nature.

Abruptly, it came to a halt. The doors slid open. Trent was out first, his SAW ready for action. He stepped out into the lobby...and froze.

"Holy shit..." he whispered. Enzo and the others hurried out, their weapons raised.

"What? What's wrong-oh." Eric slowly lowered his weapon, taking in the gruesome nature of the lobby around them. They had come to a circular room where the walls glistened with ambient light. Everything was made of silver and burnished, auburn metal. A few consoles had been hard-wired into the Forerunner technology by either the original crew or Black Ops. But none of these particular features seemed immediately relevant.

What captivated their attention was the fact that several members of Black Ops had been crucified to the walls. Their helmets had been removed, their pale heads hung at awkward angles, their faces slack. They had already bled out, drying streams of blood had dribbled along the wall from their wrists to the floor, where it had pooled.

"Jesus...who do you suppose did _this_?" Eric murmured.

"I...honestly don't know. This is a whole new ballgame," Trent replied softly. They left the lobby slowly, making for the only opening in the area. The quartet quietly began stalking down a lengthy corridor, lit by a curiously red glow, as several of the lighting units had been sprayed with blood. Before long, they came to another room sprayed liberally with blood. In one corner, a skeleton still clinging to a gun sat.

"Holy shit, how did this happen?" Eric muttered, walking over to it. They gathered around the skeleton. The bones looked charred. For some reason, Trent kept expecting the thing to suddenly jump up in horrid life.

"This couldn't be one of the original crew members, perhaps?" Enzo asked. Trent shook his head.

"No. For something to decompose this thoroughly...it takes longer than a few years. Especially in such a sterile environment."

"Maybe it was some kind of defensive weapon, installed into the installation," Eric murmured. "I read a report about some new plasma-based energy field that fried a whole team on Settlik Three, investigating an old ruin last year."

"God, I hope this isn't anything like that. If it is, we need to get into the Forerunner database and take care of it. That's a hell of a way to go," Trent replied.

"Here, let me get into this terminal," Eric said, walking over to a small bank of monitors fixed to a desk. He righted the toppled swivel chair and sat down. Several of the screens were dead or stricken with static, but a few still worked. They were cycling through a network of security cameras. Trent walked over and began looking at the scenes while Eric worked. Most of the scenes were either boring shots of lengthy corridor or gruesome angles of blood-splattered Forerunner rooms with glistening technology.

The screens continued to cycle on five second intervals. Trent was just about to stop staring at them when he noticed something. Something on one of the screens moved, but there was something incredibly wrong with it. Then the screen changed. Trent sighed in an irritable huff and waited for it to cycle back through. When the screen cycled back around, the room was perfectly still and remained as such until it cycled away again.

Trent turned away from the screen, frustrated. "What have you got?" he asked, staring down at Eric's own screen.

"Well, it looks like Black Ops re-activated the old UNSC network and hard-wired it into their own. Unfortunately, this terminal doesn't have any access and I can't seem to hack my way into it. How_ever_, I _did_ manage to get a map of the Forerunner structure from a Black Ops perspective, meaning what _they_ labeled all the rooms as. It seems they've set up a command post not far from here, just a few corridors over, actually. If we can get there, I might have more luck hacking into the database and figuring out just what the hell they're up to."

"I don't suppose you've got any idea what's going on around here then? Any defensive grids we should be worried about?" Trent replied.

"From what I can tell, the UNSC disabled any internal security networks the Forerunners had, and Black Ops double-checked their work. So no, we should be good."

"So what the hell fried him?" Trent asked, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. Eric shrugged.

"I guess we'll find out later."

They plunged deeper into the complex and as they navigated the bullet-riddled, blood-stained corridors, the sounds of conflict began to echo down to them. The screams of the dying, gunfire and explosions, and...something else. A haunting, discordant moaning, almost like the wind on a particularly stormy night, rose and fell amidst the chaos.

"Sounds like Black Ops has their hands full," Eric murmured.

"Yeah, but against what? I don't hear any return fire," Trent replied.

"Maybe whoever or whatever it is has gotten hold of some lead-based weapons." Trent shook his head.

"No, the pattern of the gunfire doesn't indicate a sustained firefight. One side, I imagine Black Ops, is doing all the shooting. But against what is the real question." To that, no one had any answers. They continued into the forsaken installation amidst a cacophony of chaos. The feeling of being watched soon switched to the feeling of being straight up hunted. As they neared the command center, something let out a long, horrible shriek that lasted much longer than human lungs would have been able to sustain it.

Finally, the corridor they were in ended in a large Forerunner door. They stacked up on the door, Enzo and Kiza to the left, Trent and Eric to the right, each pressed up against the wall. Eric initiated the door with the light pad. The door slipped silently open to reveal a bloodied, abandoned amalgamation of human and Forerunner technology. The command center was a medium sized room with rounded corners and large pieces of equipment taking up most of the area. Thick black cables ran across the floor and a curious mist seemed to cling to everything.

"Alright, give me some cover," Eric said after they cleared the room and found it empty of everything but technology and blood. Trent nodded and took a look around. He didn't like the command center. There were three points of entry, which would make it difficult to defend if they were forced to. He had Enzo and Kiza take up positions behind the sturdier looking pieces of equipment and did the same.

Each of them covered an entryway and waited in the bloody gloom. Several moments passed in uncomfortable silence, broken only by the occasional scream or distant, inhuman shriek. Trent was just beginning to pass into the mental waters of thinking that no one was going to attack them when, abruptly, his radio crackled to life. A low, discordant voice began to bleed from his speakers. It was chanting something in an entirely inhuman voice and unknown language. Trent cried out in surprise, then found his focused honed as his motion tracker fired up.

"Contacts!" he cried. "We've got contacts!"

But there was something wrong. The red dots on the motion tracker seemed to flicker in and out of reality, popping into existence and then fading out, then reappearing a few feet closer. Trent swallowed nervously, his SAW pointed towards the door. He licked his lips, his heart pounding in his chest as the signals flickered closer and closer.

"How long, Eric?" Trent asked.

"Five more minutes, at least!"

"Shit!" Trent took a deep breath, held it, let it out slowly. He could deal with it...whatever _it_ was. The signals faded closer. They were right outside the door. A moment of unbearable tension passed. The door opened. Trent began to squeezed the trigger, then stopped. He blinked a few times, as though he had something in his eyes, and then discovered that no, he wasn't hallucinating. His brain had an absurdly difficult time processing what he was seeing.

Clustered in the doorway were a trio of...well, the closest word his brain had were shadows. They were shadows of men. But these shadows weren't attached to a physical form, they were free and able to move around of their own volition. An intense whispering began to fill the room and the three shadows that stood in the doorway abruptly began to advanced. Trent felt a short scream of fear escape his throat and he squeezed the trigger.

The SAW spoke in his hands and the muzzle flare filled the room with unnatural flashes of brilliant yellow light. He fought to keep the SAW under control as the kickback screwed with his aim, but he sprayed the shadows' position with a hot barrage of bullets. One of them took the brunt of the assault and an unholy shriek filled the room as it was picked up and thrown backwards. It diffused into the air like underwater ink before it hit the ground. Trent quickly dispatched the other two in the same fashion.

"What are these?!" Enzo cried as the gunfire ceased.

"What?! What are they!?" Eric yelled.

"Shadows!" Trent replied, the shock obvious in his voice.

"_What_?!"

"They're...shadows, Eric! Shit, just hurry up. This place is really starting to freak me out."

"Getting there." Once it became obvious that no more shadows were in the immediate area, the three of them hurried forward and re-secured the doors, then moved back to their defensive positions. Several more moment passed before Eric spoke up.

"Bad news, guys. This database is fried, too. _However_, I have managed to track down a backup data vault where they shunt all of their information in the event of power outage or severe damage to the primary database. We'll have to get to that one," he explained. Trent sighed heavily. This was getting ridiculous.

"Alright, fine. Let's just...get the hell out of here. And everyone pay close attention. We have no idea what these...shadow things can do if they get hold of you, but the seem to go down under a little bit of sustained gunfire."

Everyone gave an affirmative response as they headed back out.


	6. When Darkness Comes

_**Chapter 06  
**-When Darkness Comes-_

Trent knew with the grim certainty of one who has been through a great deal of shit that this situation would get a whole hell of a lot worse before it even approached better. It was times like these, when he roamed bloody, desolate corridors, surrounded by enemies that were out for his blood, that he thought most longingly of the safe comfort of his bed. It wasn't that he was a coward, if there was something Trent had too much of, it was stubborn, damned-headed determination, but actually being there, in the heart of darkness, and to know that you had to cut deeper and that there was no promise you'd make it out alive...

It made even the hardest of men hesitate. Possibly the only thing that gave him some quantum of solace was the fact that he was not alone. In between the missions, the blood and the chaos, Trent found himself reflecting on certain things. It was curious how powerful the more basic needs were, how comforting a light in the darkness could be, how reassured Trent was when he wasn't alone. Despite how far they'd come, Humanity was still mostly about the basics. To this day, Trent measured having a warrior at his back higher than anything else.

He took a look around the ruined corridor they were making their way down. It seemed to him that this was a place he spent most of his life: a generic, blood-stained, bullet-riddled corridor. On his way from one place to the other in a never-ending string of objectives. The fact that it was Forerunner and ancient was only a minor variable. They'd been walking for five minutes now and had only encountered creepy sounds.

Trent was keeping his eyes out for those shadow creatures. They chilled him to the bone. More so than the Flood, more than the things he'd encountered on the _Icarus, _more even than the Executioner. Perhaps the only thing that surpassed just how freaked out these things had him was the shadowy monster he'd encountered buried deep in the Ark. At least these things could be killed. He kept that in mind as he swung his SAW from side-to-side in a gentle arc, covering the corridor, the walls, everything he could.

Trent had honed his paranoia to a fine level. It helped to be paranoid when almost everyone and everything you came in contact with tried to kill you. So when a Black Ops soldier, screaming heedlessly, came barreling around a corner and tripped, he almost shot the man's head clean off his shoulders. Instead, he noticed that the man seemed to be running from something. He glanced up. A shadowy figure leapt around the corner, hesitated for just a second, then pounced onto the Black Ops soldier.

Trent had the others hold back while they watched. He wanted to see what happened, just how threatening these shadow things were. His stomach turned to cold stone as he quickly found out. Almost as soon as the shadow came in contact with the Black Ops soldier, a tremendous cloud of blood sprayed in all directions. The man screamed with complete abandon as his armor, his uniform and even his flesh all seemed to melt away in the span of a few seconds. When the shadow was finished, all that was left was a scorched, smoking skeleton.

"You...have _got_...to be shitting me," Eric murmured in complete disbelief. The shadow glanced up at them and lurched to its feet. Trent didn't give it a chance. He squeezed the trigger and sprayed the thing with bullets. It shrieked, the sound almost ear-splitting, and then vaporized into nothingness, the shadows bleeding away into the air.

"Okay...so...I guess, um, be careful goes without saying at this point," Trent said after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence.

"Maybe this isn't such a good idea," Eric murmured.

"Let's just get to that data center and yank the data. Then we can get the hell out of here and have Childs blast this place from orbit," Trent replied. They kept going, coming around the corner cautiously, heading the way the Black Ops soldier had run from. They weren't far from the data center now. Trent felt fear begin to take hold of him and fought for control. Fighting aliens and monsters was one thing, but this? This was ridiculous. He tried to tell himself that he'd faced down worse odds, but couldn't make himself believe it.

As he came around another corner, he nearly had his head blown off. Trent dropped to the ground, spraying the corridor with his SAW as he did. A dozen Black Ops soldiers had apparently set up a barricade right in front of the data center. Trent sighed as he scrambled to his feet in the time afforded by his frantic spraying. Of _course_ they'd set up a perimeter there. Wasn't it always like that? He sighed and primed a few grenades.

Tossing them around the corner, he informed the others of the situation. He considered it for a moment, then, while he still had what he hoped was the initiative, he hurried across the corridor to a niche in the wall on the opposite side. A few half-hearted sprays of gunfire shrieked out towards him, but missed. Enzo took up residence where he had been and together the pair began popping around the corner and picking off the resistance.

The next few minutes passed in a tedious game of popping around the corner and firing off a few shots before the Black Ops squad finally went down. Once the last one was felled, Trent moved cautiously forward, making sure none of them had survived or were playing dead. Once the area was cleared, he called the others forward. They found the entrance to the data center, cleared the room, then had Eric do his thing.

"Alright..." he murmured, hooking his suit into the central database. "Aw hell. This place has been scrambled too, but...not quite as bad. I can't seem to get anything from the new Black Ops database, but there _is_ something leftover from the original UNSC database set up here in 2551. Here, lemme see what I can find..."

Silence fell again. Trent waited impatiently, checking the corners of the room again. Everything was lit with an ambient white glow that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. Trent had often wondered about the Forerunners. There was so much about them that Humanity didn't know. Even with the addition of the Elite database, stolen from the Covenant when it collapsed, they didn't know much. It had been difficult to sort through the hard, factual evidence and all the religious crap the Prophets _thought_ they knew they were talking about.

"Okay...gather round people. I've managed to find a video file. It was the last thing entered into the database. Not long after the final ODST squad had been sent to investigate." Eric stood before a large bank of monitors hard-wired into the Forerunner tech. Most of them were broken, dark or blood-stained. One of the static-stricken screens cleared to show the face of a terrified, bloodied man. He wore glasses that had been broken. His eyes were wild and wide, his hair standing up at ends and partially singed.

_"This is Doctor Andrew __Dutton__ of the United Nations Space Command. I have a grave warning for anyone who watches this. We have finally managed to unlock the horrible secret of the unknown facility below. Something, some kind of unspeakable evil, has been imprisoned in the metal tomb below us. It's older than us, older than the Forerunners, possibly as old as time itself. Where it came from, how it was imprisoned, we'll never know. The point is, when the Forerunners came here, they accidentally broke the seal and almost let it out. Thankfully, they managed to re-seal the facility and contain it, but it cost them dearly._

_ "We have made the same mistake, and too late we've learned the awful truth. Thankfully, I know how to re-activate the seal. It's a simple procedure, relatively speaking. But the Shadows...they're everywhere now. I've briefed Sergeant __Harvey on how to do it. He's taken the survivors and the remains of the ODST team sent to investigate down into the heart of darkness to do it. In case he fails, this is how to do it._

_ "There are three generators that must be re-activated. A map of the underground facility, with these locations pointed out, should be in the database. Those who came before the Forerunners used light-based technology, very much like the Forerunners. In fact, we have speculated that the Forerunners appropriated their light-based technology from this other race. All you must do is press a sequence of buttons. The top, left-most button first, then one in the exact center, then, finally, the one to the immediate right of the exact center._

_ "Doing so should reset the system and reinitialize the generators, thus trapping the evil within. If you see this, please, please make a note of this place and __put__ Lachrymal under quarantine. It must never be disturbed. What was that?"_

Dutton suddenly looked off screen. His eyes widened and he screamed as a shadow tackled him. The camera was sprayed with blood, then the image flickered and died. Trent looked over at Eric.

"Well...shit. Is that map he was talking about in there?" he asked, making sure he had committed the sequence of buttons to memory, already knowing what he'd have to do.

"Way ahead of you," Eric replied, turning back to the database. He spent a few more moments in intense silence before finally letting out a sigh of relief.

"Whoa boy, yes, it is. Thank God. Here, I'll transfer it to your internal database. You should be able to project it onto your HUD."

"Really? I didn't ask for that upgrade," Trent murmured.

"It's not an upgrade. Lots of combat armor comes with this feature...have you never tried to use it?" Eric asked.

"I...well, no. I haven't. I mean, I guess the nav markers were always enough before...hold on, lemme check..." Trent called up the functions of his internal database after Eric downloaded the map into it. A few seconds later he came across the feature and activated it. A holographic overlay appeared over his vision.

"Holy shit," he murmured. "Well, now that I think about it, way back when I was in New Mombasa, I _did_ download a holographic map of the city to my database. But it was so poorly designed that I never used it. I guess...it just turned me off to the idea in general," Trent explained.

"Well, how does this one look?" Eric replied.

"This one actually looks better. I could follow this one." Trent oriented himself along the map, as it also showed the Forerunner facility. Finally, he turned to face the others.

"Have you downloaded the database?" he asked. Eric nodded. "Alright...I'm going to handle the generators. I want the three of you to get back to the surface and get up to Childs. Someone needs to be told about what happened here in case I fail."

"No," Enzo said immediately. "Kiza and Eric can go back and warn Childs just fine. It doesn't take three people to deliver a message. I'm coming with you. We will have a higher probability of success if I accompany you." Part of Trent wanted to argue, but a larger part of him did _not_ relish the thought of going through this alone.

"Alright," he said finally. He turned to face Eric and Kiza. "You two, get back to the surface and off-world. Childs needs to know about this." Eric looked like he wanted to argue, so did Kiza, but they both simply nodded, wished them luck and turned to leave. As they did, there was a sharp electrical sound and all the power died, plunging them into darkness.

"Oh, come _on_!" Trent groaned.


	7. Heart of Malevolence

_**Chapter 07  
**-Heart of Malevolence-_

Darkness consumed them. Trent felt fear welling within him, a rising tide threatening to overwhelm and drown him. One of the only things that kept him anchored was the fact that Enzo was with him. They had sent Eric and Kiza on their way, then plunged deeper into to the forsaken heart of the Forerunner installation. Besides Enzo and the black malignant presence, Trent felt truly alone. He found it likely that all the Black Ops personnel were dead by now. It was just the two of them against the shadows.

Trent's light cut a bright swath through the darkness. They were making their way slowly and cautiously down the final corridor to the Forerunner lift that would take them into the tomb. Apprehension tempered Trent's ever move and his muscles felt as though they were twined so tight they might snap. So far, they hadn't seen any movement. All they heard in the dead silence of the abandoned installation was whispering. It was in a language that Trent didn't recognize, but felt that he _almost_ understood.

Trent was eager to get back to the ship. Neither him nor Enzo exchanged words as they crept down the passageway. Behind them, close by, something whispered fervently. They spun, weapons raised, but there was nothing. Just the shifting shadows created by their flashlights. The first thing Trent had done when darkness fell was cycle through the visions that should have been fully enabled by his helmet.

Unfortunately, none of them worked. It was as though something was purposefully leaving him with just a flashlight to combat the encroaching darkness. That notion made him feel vulnerable. What if it decided to take the flashlight away?

"Here, I see the lift," Enzo said suddenly after they had continued on their path for another few moments. Trent felt a brief respite of relief, but it was immediately quashed as he knew that this meant they would have to cut even deeper into the despairing gloom. The pair stepped aboard. A light pad lit the darkness. The pair stepped aboard and activated the lift. It began to descend into the earth. Trent felt his chest tighten another notch.

The lift continued for a disturbingly long time, for what Trent felt must've been at least half a mile, if not more. It finally came to a halt. Before stepping off, Trent tried his radio, only to find it dead. Enzo tried his and met a similar result.

"I guess this is it," Trent murmured.

"Indeed," Enzo replied gravely. They stepped off the lift and into a small room composed of black metal. The corners were curved and the walls, floor and ceiling were all covered in a strange, runic language carved directly into the metal. The runes were all glowing slightly red, giving the area a hellish glow.

"See you on the other side," Enzo said. Trent nodded.

"Good luck." They split up, each taking a door an opposite sides of the room.

As Trent began to make his way through the tomb, a slow ache started to build behind his eyes. He fought to keep his focus, the SAW becoming heavy in his hands. He could feel evil on the air like a physical presence, almost like electricity or the slow build of pressure before a particularly brutal storm. The walls began to pulse slowly and the sound of respiration could be heard. Trent took a turn, glancing over his shoulder.

Nothing but crimson-lit corridor. He swallowed nervously and kept going. Sounds rose and fell around him as he crept down the passageway, as though the tomb itself were alive with a malevolent life force. And who knew...maybe it was. Trent had no idea about the forces at work in this place, only that it had wiped out the everything the UNSC, Black Ops and even the Forerunners had thrown at it. Isolation set in as he continued.

Trent kept telling himself that it wouldn't be long before he was in a Pelican, flying away from this miserable moon. He suddenly came to a doorway blocking his path. He hunted around its peripheral for some way to open it, a light pad or something, but was forced to admit that it wasn't opening. Trent did a quick survey of his surroundings, then opened up the holographic map overlay. He studied it for a moment and determined that this would be just a minor detour. He deactivated it, turned and screamed.

A shadow was leaping at him. He threw himself to the side, tracking it with his SAW as he did, and let the thing have it. A stream of bullets smashed into the uncertain frame of the shadow and dissolved it. Trent scrambled this feet, wary for more of them, but he was alone.

_"Trent! Are you alright!?"_ Enzo's voice was faraway and tinny on his radio.

"I'm okay, Enzo. I just...close call, that's all."

_"Okay. Good. I'm nearly there, how about you?"_

"Almost. Getting there." Trent headed through a side door and down a narrow, squat passageway bathed in a curious, clinging mist. He hurried down it, eager to get to his goal. For the first time in a little while, Trent abruptly found himself thinking about Veronica. How long had it been since she'd last entered his mind? And why now? He supposed the mind tended to think about things it genuinely cared about when faced with death. And, though Trent didn't want to admit it, he genuinely still cared about Veronica.

He wondered about where she was, what she was done and, possibly most importantly, who she'd hooked up with since dumping his ass. He tried to be angry with her, but found that the anger wouldn't come, not like had even a few months ago. He couldn't really blame her, he supposed. And besides, hadn't he been considering breaking up with her at the time anyway? Was he happier now that he was single? Trent suddenly realized how stupid it was to be thinking about shit like this right now. He sharpened his focus.

The detour ended and let him back out into the broader corridor. His generator wasn't too far from his position. He could see the doorway up ahead. Trent listened for more shadows and the odd whispering sound they seemed to make, but only the ominous sound of alien respiration accompanied him. He reached the door, activated it and stepped inside. The room beyond was small, smaller than he would've thought, housing little more than a single light pad. After securing the area, he hurried forward and punched in the sequence.

There was a subtle hum and the ambient light seemed to grow a little brighter and stop pulsating so much. Distantly, he thought he heard the bass rumbled of something truly immense growling. Swallowing, Trent stepped back out into the corridor.

"Enzo, I've managed to get my generator online. How are you doing?" Almost as he finished the sentence, the lights seemed to grow even brighter, and, distantly, something shrieked.

_"Mine is online as well. I'm heading for the third generator. Watch your back."_

"You too, buddy." Trent began hurrying. He was close, so close that he could almost taste freedom and the wet air of the surface. He hastily navigated the narrow corridors that would take him to the final generator. All around him, the metal tomb pulsed in dark, malignant hatred. Trent slowly became aware of a voice, deeper and more commanding than the whispering of the shadows. It was speaking, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere, like the ambient light. Trent began straining his ears, attempting to understand it.

The voice was speaking in a language that might as well have been the vocal version of the runic symbols that surrounded him. The words, though thoroughly corrupted by a vile undertone, were almost hypnotic and melodic in nature. Trent found himself listening harder, drawn into the words as though he were gazing into a twisting spiral. He suddenly made himself focus, realizing that this was more than likely some kind of trap.

Almost as soon as he regained his focus, something close by howled in despairing fury. Trent hurried on. He turned a corner and then screamed and fell back as a shadow leapt at him. He tracked it with his SAW and blew the thing away, then peered cautiously around the corner once more. The corridor beyond was clear. He turned the corridor and hurried down the passageway. Not far now. He followed the corridor to its end and opened the door he found there. He scoped out the room and found something very pleasing within.

"Trent! Thank the Gods you made it," Enzo said, sounding genuinely relieved. Trent knew how he felt. He came into the room and they met halfway, in front of the final console.

"Me too, Enzo. This is one of those 'I've never been so happy to see you' moments. Definitely," Trent replied. "Okay, let's take care of..." He drifted off as an intense whispering began to fill the room. Trent swallowed, turned and looked around the room.

Shadows. They were everywhere. They seemed to fill the room, leaving only a small bubble of open space around Trent, Enzo and the console. Something like dark laughter began to sound from all around them. Trent made a split second decision. Everything seemed to move in slow motion as he spun to face the console and punched in the sequence. All around them, the shadows began to surge forward.

As Trent's gloved finger hit the final button in the sequence, a roar so loud that it near burned Trent's mind out ripped across the room. It whited out his vision and left a ringing in his ears so bad he was worried that he'd been rendered deaf. When the ringing began to fade and his vision started to return, Trent took a tentative look around. It was brightly lit with a cool blue color and was completely empty save for him and Enzo.

"I think...we have won," Enzo said tentatively.

"Yeah...I guess so. God...let's get the hell out of here. I really need a drink."


	8. Deathstalker

_**Chapter 08  
**-Deathstalker-_

Trent was exhausted. He lounged bonelessly in the briefing room chair with the others. Childs had disappeared through a side door after he'd ingested all the information they had to offer him. The walk back through the facility had left him weary. Despite how flat-out tired he was, the odd looks both Enzo and Kiza were giving him didn't escape his grasp. He looked at Eric, who seemed oblivious to everything and was halfway to dozing in his chair. Was it something that just Elites noticed? Did he have something on his face?

Childs reappeared as Trent was pondering this, looking flustered and busy. He stood at the head of the table, clearing his throat.

"Alright, I've updated ONI. They're officially placing the moon under a Level One Quarantine. You all have the next twelve hours off. We're heading for some docking yards for a special surprise. Until then, don't bother me, I'm going to be getting drunk." With that, Childs turned and left the room, leaving them alone.

"Well...I think I'll take that as my cue to leave, too," Eric said, getting up and stretching. "I'm...utterly exhausted."

"You were asleep for three months!" Trent cried. Eric laughed and shrugged.

"What can I say? I'm a lazy bastard. I'll see you guys in twelve hours." He turned and left the room. Trent considered what to do. He'd like to catch up with Enzo some more, maybe over a drink and a meal. He glanced over and saw Enzo and Kiza looking at him.

"So, uh...Enzo, how about a drink and some conversations?" he asked. Enzo hesitated, then glanced at Kiza and nodded to her. She stood and moved towards the door, giving one more hesitant look first at Enzo, then at Trent, then she left the room. Once the door was closed and they were alone, Enzo turned to face Trent.

"What's up?" Trent asked. "I can tell something's going on." Enzo nodded.

"Yes. Something is. How would you like to mate with Kiza?" he replied. Trent opened his mouth, closed it, blinked a few times, then tried opening his mouth again.

"Um...that wasn't what I was expecting you to say," he managed. Enzo waited patiently for Trent to process this question. Finally, he managed to gather together enough of his mental facilities to formulate a response.

"I thought you were together?" Enzo nodded.

"Indeed we are."

"So, um...wouldn't that be a problem? I mean, I dunno, we're blood brothers, but I'm not entirely sure I'd feel comfortable sharing my girlfriend with you. Just to be completely honest."

"I understand. This isn't something everyone feels comfortable with, and I understand it is even more of a rarity among Humans. Sharing mates with our most trusted brethren is something of a common practice among the Sangheili. Though of course all parties involved must be completely willing. I consider you my brother, Trent, closer to me than any others of my own kind. Except for Kiza, of course. And Kiza...I've learned that she has developed a curiosity for inter-species mating. Once I learned of this I suggested you as a suitable candidate. She's attracted to you, she trusts you...I thought it would be a pleasing experience for both of you." Trent hesitated further, still processing this, but already he could feel himself getting aroused at the idea.

"I...would it even work? I mean, we're completely different species."

"Anatomically we are basically the same. We mate the same way. It would work."

"Would I...is there any risk of picking up an STD? I mean, not that I think she has one or anything, but I mean, given the fact that we're different species this probably hasn't been investigated all that much."

"We've researched that too. Kiza is healthy and apparently Sangheili-borne illnesses were a concern almost from first contact. Given how healthy both of you are and the advancement of medical knowledge on the subject, there's no risk."

"What about pregnancy?"

"No. While our mating habits are identical, there's no risk of cross-species pregnancy. Besides, I thought you had been clipped?"

"I was, I'm just...covering all the bases. This is...all very sudden and strange for me." Enzo shifted uncertainty.

"If you are uncomfortable with this, we will understand." Trent shook his head.

"No. I'm comfortable with this. I mean, I've kind of had the hots for her since I first saw her. I just never thought it would pan out, considering the fact that she was a difference species and, well, that you two obvious had a thing for each other." Enzo laughed easily.

"Was it that obvious?" he asked.

"I'm afraid so, brother," Trent replied.

"So...will you do it? It would have to be in my quarters, as your bed wouldn't be big enough."

"Yeah, I'll do it. So you mean like, right now?"

"When else?" Trent shrugged and stood up. The pair left the briefing room and found Kiza waiting out in the corridor. She looked over expectantly as they exited.

"Well?" she asked.

"I'd be happy to," Trent replied. She smiled and took a step forward, offering him her hand. He took it, feeling slightly awkward, and she began to lead him down the corridor. He glanced back once at Enzo, who smiled at him in that weird way he did, then they turned the corner and Enzo was out of sight.

* * *

Trent felt good. His twelve hours were up and he was showered, fed and rested. The sex with Kiza had been awkward at first, then very, very good. There were things about Sangheili female anatomy that he hadn't known and was now very, very glad that he'd gotten to experience firsthand. Trent was seriously considering finding an Elite girlfriend. He popped his neck, back and shoulders as he stepped onto the bridge.

Childs had called the four of them to the front as their twelve hours dwindled to nothing. Eric was already there.

"So what'd you do with your downtime?" he asked, yawning and stretching.

"I...will have to tell you about it later. But it was very, very awesome," Trent replied, unable to keep from grinning broadly. Eric looked at him interested.

"You've only got that look after you've had sex. Was it that brunette tech that I passed in the hall before I headed to bed?"

"Eric, you wouldn't believe me if I told you. But later."

"Yes, later," Childs said, straightening up from the console he was examining. The bridge was a medium-sized room packed with terminals, readouts and displays. They were manned by a dozen silent men and women in black jumpsuits bearing the ONI Section Zero symbol. "Now, where are-ah, there you are."

Trent and Eric turned as the far door opened to admit Enzo and Kiza. Kiza saw Trent, smiled briefly and looked away. Eric picked up on the subterfuge and looked from Kiza to Trent.

"No. _Way_." Trent just smiled. "Dude, seriously?" Trent shrugged. "Tell me!" Eric cried.

"Shut _up_, Eric," Childs said. Eric heaved a sigh and the quartet turned their attention to the main bridge windows. Presently, they showed the black nothingness of slipspace. After a few seconds, the black void abruptly gave way to the star-stained abyss of space and, not far away, like a mote in God's eye, a docking station. Trent studied the station as the _Eclipse_ moved steadily closer. There were several large ships attached to it, some of them massive while others were smaller than the _Eclipse_. He wondered what Childs had in store for them this time.

"So what's up?" Eric asked. "Is there a monster onboard?"

"No, Eric. Look. That ship, there." Childs pointed as they drifted closer. The _Eclipse_ came around the side of the station, where one ship in particular was floating free. It was small, roughly the same size as the _Sunstrider_ had been, maybe even a little smaller. Trent stared at it curiously. It seemed to be of a more modular design than the bulky, angular UNSC ships. There were more smoothed curves and the hull had an almost black-purple hue to it.

"What...is that?" Enzo asked. Trent noticed a word printed across the hull in flaming crimson letters: **DEATHSTALKER**

"Gentlemen, and lady, say hello to your new home! The _Deathstalker_."

"Holy shit, that is an _awesome_ name," Trent whispered. Childs smirked and lit up a cigar.

"Thought you'd appreciate that," he said. "We'll be docking with them in a few moments and I'll give you the grand tour. She's not a big ship, but she's fast and powerful. She comes with a crew of eleven. This is going to be your home from now until, well, I'm not sure. Until Black Ops is buried six feet deep. You might even recognize a few of your new crewmates. Anyway, let me get down to the really cool parts. First of all, this ship comes equipped with shields. Powerful ones. It is also equipped with a brand new engine, first of its kind. The engine, and the ship, were a joint Human-Elite operation," Childs explained.

Trent pulled out a pack of Yeheyuans and pulled one out. He lit up with his Helljumper Zippo and digested that.

"Has this ever been done before?" he asked finally, blowing a perfect blue smoke ring. Childs shook his head.

"No. First of its kind. That engine is the fastest engine currently known to mankind and the Elites. On top of that, the ship comes with cloaking capabilities." Trent and Eric both raised their eyebrows. Enzo made a surprised sound.

"How did you manage _that_?" Trent asked.

"We adapted the cloaking units that Elites have been using for years. Honestly, I'm surprised that this wasn't done decades ago, considering how long the technology's been there." Childs shrugged. "But we can sure do it now. Took a great deal of effort and it'll probably be a while before they start handing out the cloaking units for entire ships, but you'll have it for now." There was a distant _clang_ as the two ships locked together.

"And we're locked in. Come on, let's go meet your new crewmates."

* * *

Trent was excited as they waited for the airlock to cycle through. They were finally getting their own ship? It raised some questions, but Trent decided to keep his peace for the moment as the airlock finished its cycle and admitted them to what appear to be a lounge. The room was dominated by a quartet of large, curved couches centered around a table. Three men and an Elite were sitting on the couches, engaged in conversation.

Trent recognized two of these people.

"Blake?...BANKS?" he asked, shocked. After the war, Trent had taken some time to look up war heroes who weren't Spartans. Among the seemingly few survivors left of this nature, Trent had become familiar with Marcus Banks, a Staff Sergeant who had seen action not only during both Battles of Earth, but also on Delta Halo and the Ark. Banks chuckled and flicked some ash from his cigar. He grinned as he stuck it back in his mouth.

"Good to know my reputation ain't dead yet," he said.

"Hey, Trent. Good to see you. When you said you had a job for me, I didn't know it'd be something like this," Blake said. Trent laughed, walked across the room and grabbed the former Yellowkjacket's proffered hand. He hauled him up and into a half-hug.

"Neither did I," he replied. "I thought Childs might induct you as a Survivor." Childs shook his head.

"No. I ran the test on him. He has some natural luck, to be certain, most Yellowjackets do, and his luck was above average, but not enough to bring him up to Survivor Status. So I thought I'd stick him in a support role with Banks. I think it's time for some introductions. You already know Blake and Banks. This Australian bastard is Chips Dubbo. He's survived Reach, Alpha Halo, Delta Halo, Earth and the Ark. Not to mention a handful of other campaigns."

The man before Trent couldn't have been any older than him. He grinned broadly and thrust his hand forward.

"Please to meet ya, mate. Chips at your service. And yes, I'm a bit of a bastard," he said.

"Good to meet you, and to have you onboard."

"Glad to be here."

"Finally we have N'tho 'Sraom. The Elites felt they needed another member aboard the ship and while they weren't willing to spare any of their Survivors, they felt that N'tho would fit the bill quite nicely. He's seen action all over the galaxy, but his resume also includes Delta Halo and the Ark. He was quite helpful in the Elite Rebellion." Trent and the others shook his hand as well.

"Please," he said, smiling awkwardly and speaking softly. "Just call me N."

"These four represent your backup. Your support. I figured having them onboard couldn't hurt. Now, let's get up to the bridge." They moved to the left, out of the lounge and followed a short corridor to a cramped bridge stuffed with technology. Two women resided within.

"May I introduce you to Jennifer Wells, your pilot, and Nadia Vane, your navigator and co-pilot. Jennifer here was callsign Hocus during the war and flew a great deal of missions near the end. She's heavily qualified to fly pretty much everything and her reflexes are off the charts." Jennifer was long and lean, more on the skinny side. She wore her short brunette hair in a ponytail and her green eyes blazed with intelligence and adrenaline. She grinned and rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, Childs. Don't try to pretty it up. I'll just get your ass out of the fire if we get into it," she replied. Nadia seemed quieter, more reserved and offered her hand when introduced. Trent already took a liking to her. She was a redhead. Her hair was shoulder-length and her eyes were like chips of blue ice. She was a bit heavier and more filled out than Jennifer and everything about her spoke of keen intelligence.

"Alright, come on, let's move it along," Childs said impatiently. Trent sighed, wished the women farewell and followed Childs back through the ship. They moved back through the lounge to the rest of the ship, where their next stop was the infirmary. There they met their pair of medics, who were playing chess. Louis Asher, who insisted to be called Ash, was the younger of the two medics and was smoking a blunt. He had an easy smile and a smooth, pale face. Childs insisted that he was a genius when it came to medicine. Chris Anderson was older, on his way into middle age and looked haggard. Like Ash, he had an extensive background in all things medicine and could preform surgery under fire if he had to.

It was in the kitchen that they found their next surprise. Tucked away in the back corner of the messhall, behind a series of counters and playing with an industrial-sized stove was truly a sight to behold. An Elite, wrapped in a greasy apron and topped off with a traditional, puffy white chef's hat, was apparently their cook.

"This is Leland," Childs said uneasily. "He was the other, ah, 'recommendation' by the Elites." Leland turned and greeted them with a grin.

"Greetings!" he cried. "Oh how I love you Humans and your many foods! The Sangheili are so repressed by comparison! I feel as though I've only just begun learning all the manner foods and ways in which to prepare them. I shall so greatly enjoy preparing your meals for you."

"I...look forward to eating them," Trent replied uncertainly. Leland laughed easily and turned back to the stove. Childs moved them along.

"Where'd you find him?" Eric asked.

"Leland? Oh in some colony somewhere. He'd been making a name for himself I guess. He used to be an Ultra, you know, the white armored guards? After the war he disappeared for a while, resurfaced with a tremendous love for food. Don't worry, he's actually great. I've had a few of his meals. He's got some kind of savant talent for Human cuisine. Alright, these are the dormitories. Names are above the doors and the rooms have been tailored to each individual so don't go switching rooms on us," Childs explained as they passed down a lengthy corridor, the walls of which were stamped with doors at regular intervals.

"And here are the engines." They passed through a small room packed with equipment, then back into a larger, rounded room that was mostly taken up by a perfectly spherical piece of glistening technology. It appeared to be suspended in midair, hovering and bobbing gently in the rounded chamber. A pair of men were sitting in front of a pried-open panel on the wall and working on the ship's exposed guts.

"These are the last two men on your crew. Meet Vincent Kinner and Mike Marshall. Vincent here did the majority of the work on the engines and cloaking device...Vincent, why are you screwing with the cloaking device?" Vincent, who was mostly hidden inside the panel, abruptly came out of it. He was a grizzled old man with wild white hair and wore goggles with crimson lenses. He pointed a tool at Childs.

"Listen, Childs. Which one of us practically built this son of a bitch thing from the ground up?" he snapped. Childs sighed.

"You did."

"Right. So which one of us knows more about it?" Childs rolled his eyes and sighed again.

"You, Vincent."

"Exactly! So why don't you shut your bureaucratic mouth and let me do my goddamned job? It's makin' funny noises so I decided to check it out. Looks like a few screws have come loose, so I'm tightening them back in!"

"Vincent, there aren't any screws in there."

"Figure of speech!" Vincent cried, throwing his hands up. He turned and, in a huff, plunged back into the wall. The younger of the two, a shy young man in glasses, dark hair and a freshly pressed blue jumpsuit, smiled uncertainly and offered his hand.

"I'm Mike. Uh, don't mind Vincent too much. He's just...without social graces," he said.

"Oh like you're floating in 'em, kid," Vincent grumbled from inside the wall. Mike chuckled uneasily.

"They're your tech crew. Mike handles more of the day-to-day things on the ship, Vincent specializes in the engines and cloaking unit. So...this is your crew. Come on," Childs said, turning and making his way back through the ship.

"So, Childs. I have a question. Who's going to be in charge?" Trent asked.

"Well, you are, Trent. Obviously."

"What do you mean 'obviously'?"

"You're a natural leader. Though technically I'll still be in charge, I'll no longer be traveling with you. I'll give you missions, you fulfill them the best way you see fit. The crew already knows this and I had assumed that the Survivors already knew this. Speaking of which..." As they reached the airlock, Childs stopped, reached into his jumpsuit and pulled out a datapad. He handed it to Trent, who took it and studied it.

"Your first objective is going to be to track down all the Survivors you've worked with previously. You all need to be together on this one. I'd have them brought to you but honestly your ship is faster and I think some of them are in trouble. I _know_ Cannioto is in trouble and he's first on your list. He's gotten himself stuck on a Quarantined moon and I can't seem to get through to him. ONI already sent down a squad of Yellowjackets to look for him but they lost contact. Everything you need to know is in that datapad and I have an uplink to it, so I can update you with real-time information. Any questions?"

"Yes. What about weapons? Armor? Supplies?" Childs sighed in frustration.

"Oh yes, I forgot that part, dammit. Knew I was forgetting something on this tour. There's an armory right next to the infirmary. It's fully stocked and you each have your own section that holds your armor and an arsenal. I had your armor loaded on while we were doing the tour. Stop in at any ONI or UNSC facility in between missions and they'll fully restock and refit you, free of charge. Kitchen, infirmary and storage rooms are all topped off as well. You're good to go. Any _more_ questions?"

"No, I guess not," Trent replied.

"Good. Well, God speed and good luck. Call me when you need me. I'll be keeping my ears open for any more Black Ops happenings, but for now, busy yourself with assembling your crew." And with that, Childs turned and disappeared into the airlock. As it cycled through, Trent turned towards the bridge.

"Let's get this started off the right way," he said, reaching into his pocket. He extracted his little music player and stepped into the bridge.

"Can you play music through the ship's intercom system?" Trent asked. Jennifer and Nadia glanced over at him. Jennifer nodded.

"Yeah. There's pretty much nothing we can't do with this ship."

"Excellent. Plug this in, turn it up loud. Has Childs given you the coordinates to our first stop?"

"Yep," Jennifer replied, accepting the music player. She plugged it in, adjusted the controls, then let it play. Loud by Tech N9ne began to pound through the speakers. The girls listened to it for a few seconds, then Jennifer began to laugh.

"Holy shit, this is awesome!" she cried over the sound of the music. Trent smiled. He thought he was going to like it here, on the _Deathstalker_.


	9. Quarantine

_**Chapter 09  
**-Quarantine-_

_ "Yeah I bang my music LOUD! Yep, I got the neighbors losin' sleep from the way I make it beat!"_

Trent studied his room as he listened to Loud and was pleased with what he found. The bed was big, a king size, tucked into one corner. He had his own desk with a top-of-the-line laptop sitting on it, a dresser full of black uniforms. The bathroom wasn't as cramped as he was used to, coming with a genuine tub that he could actually fit into. He poked around in the medicine cabinet and was pleased to find that Childs had taken his special needs into consideration, as he found a healthy supply of both morphine and adrenaline.

He closed the medicine cabinet and returned to the main room, poking around. Finally, he found what he was looking for in the nightstand drawer. Weed. Childs must've had it brought over. He even found the bottle of J & B Mac had given him. Trent smiled and fished out one of the joints Windows had given him. He was just pulling out his lighter when the door rang.

"Who is it?"

_"Blake,"_ the intercom said.

"Come in. It's unlocked." The door opened and Blake stepped in. Trent studied him as he lit up, then snapped the metal jaws of the zippo shut. Blake looked better, a lot better. Depression tended to give men of the warrior persuasion a very gaunt, hollowed-out look. Blake had lost that look since they'd last spoken weeks ago. His eyes weren't so bloodshot and baggy, and the way he carried himself spoke of confidence and maybe something like happiness. Trent motioned to one of the other chairs in the room.

"Sit down, you make the place look untidy," he said. Blake laughed and took a seat, appearing to relax somewhat.

"I've been meaning to speak with you," he said. Trent took a long pull on the blunt, then passed it over to Blake, who took it hesitantly and stared at it.

"You partake?" Trent asked. Blake shook his head.

"No, not really. But...well, to be honest, I've been meaning to try." He took a pull, coughed out a blue cloud of smoke. Trent laughed. He waved the blunt off when Blake tried to pass it back.

"Keep it, I'll light up a new one. That shit really helps with stress and I get the feeling you're kind of a stressed-out guy. But you look better. Like you've actually been getting some sleep and not skipping out on your meals...how have you been? What's up? What did you want to talk about?" Trent asked, retrieving another joint.

"I was thinking a lot about what you said to me. About...breaking, about being broken and recovering from that. That's what happened to me, on the _Erebus_. When Weir died...it broke me. I had to take a week off to get my head right and...well, to be honest, I'm still not totally over it. I think...it might take a while." Trent nodded.

"Blake, I'm _still_ not over what happened to me...and I've had years. I'm not sure you can ever be totally over a tragedy, you'll always carry that scar on your soul, but you _can_ stop the bleeding. You can make peace with the past, but you can never bury it wholly." Blake was nodding. He took another pull on the joint.

"Yeah...I guess so. I wanted to thank you. I mean, obviously for saving my ass on the _Erebus_. I wouldn't have made it off that hellhole if it weren't for you. But also for getting me this gig, for talking to me, helping me, I guess."

"Hey, I'm glad to help. I just wish we could've saved more people. That whole squad seemed like a group of genuinely good people. Well, except maybe Ryan. God that guy was an asshole..." Blake laughed.

"Yeah. He really was." They sat and smoked in silence for a few minutes, simply relaxing. Finally, Blake shifted in his chair.

"So, uh, what's this upcoming mission look like?"

"Not good, to be honest. I'm considering going solo." Blake looked alarmed.

"What? Why?"

"It sounds dangerous and honestly...well, Eric just came out of a three-month coma. Enzo and Kiza just got back from doing God knows what over in Elite territory. And..." he shrugged. "I dunno. I feel up to snuff and for once, I kind of feel like doing something myself."

"But didn't _you_ just get done with a three-month stint killing Flood?"

"Yeah, but I got a bit of a vacation after that. Besides, I can handle myself. Scientifically, I'm lucky. I'll be fine. Don't worry yourself. From the looks of it, Cannioto went and got his ass stuck on a frozen moon that, for reasons I can't figure out yet, has been placed under a Level Zero Quarantine." Blake let out a long whistle.

"Shit. Level Zero...that means there's some kind of imminent threat in progress, right?"

"Yes. Flood outbreaks usually get Level Zero. I'm _really_ hoping it's not a Flood outbreak because, to be completely honest, I'm sick and tired of fighting the Flood. And the Covenant. Glad as hell that they're broken."

"I wouldn't be so sure...I've been talking with N. He seems to think that there's a chance a significant portion of the Elites might want to resurrect old grudges. Something about how they still believe in the holy, divine right of the Forerunners." Trent sighed explosively.

"I've been hearing the same from Enzo...goddammit, I swear if they pick that shit back up, I'm going to personally slam dunk their skulls into the concrete. We pissed away thirty years and hundreds of millions of lives on that pointless conflict." They both glanced up as the music was killed for a second and Nadia's voice came over the intercom.

_"Trent, we're coming out of slipspace now. We should be in orbit around Plex in just a few moments."_

As she stopped speaking, the music came back on. Trent stood and stretched. He killed the blunt and made for the door. Blake trailed after him. They made their way slowly through the ship towards the bridge. As they stepped onto it, the blackness of slipspace was fading away and an enormous white sphere came into view. Almost before Trent had a chance to focus on it, the comms began buzzing repeatedly.

"Yeah, yeah, I hear you, son of a bitch," Jennifer muttered, flicking the response button.

"This is the _Deathstalker_, responding to your hail."

_"_Deathstalker_...I don't recognize your clearance rating or callsign. Verify."_

"We're ONI Section Zero and that's all you need to know, pal." A sigh from the other end.

_"Very well. This is Captain Benjamin Mathias of the _UNSC Liberty_, acting __h__ead __of__ the Level Zero Quarantine of Plex. __I've been in contact with ah, Lieutenant Commander Childs. Now, I've already broken Quarantine by allowing your squad of Yellowjackets down to the surface and I'm very reluctant to let anyone else go down there. I'm afraid I'll only allow one of you to go down to the surface and no more." _Trent thought that was a stroke of luck. Now he wouldn't have to argue with the others. He could have pulled rank and whipped out his Q-5 Clearance, but this played too nicely into his own wants.

"Roger that, Captain. I'll be the one heading down. Has there been any contact with the Yellowjacket team?"

_"Negative. No contact. __There seems to be a total communications blackout covering the moon. On top of that we've lost all satellite and scanner coverage across the entire surface. We have literally no idea what's going on down there. All we can do is track ships leaving once they clear the atmosphere. Now, since you so goddamned trumped up on your Section Zero high, maybe you could call in a few more ships to help me maintain this quarantine? With that scan blackout, my reaction time is pretty short."_

"Alright, Captain. I'll see what I can do. Have any ships left the planet left?"

_"Negative. The same thing causing the communications and scanner blackout might also be interfering with navigational equipment, though we can't confirm."_

"Okay...do you know the nature of the threat that caused the Quarantine?"

_"No. Last transmission out of the moon was calling for the Level Zero and whoever it was had the proper access codes and authority. That was about twenty four hours ago. All communications prior to that were either normal or referring to some kind of alien virus of unknown origin. The only thing we _can_ confirm is that it is _not_ the Flood."_

"Well...I guess that's a relief. One more thing. I'm looking for someone. Specialist Shaun Cannioto. He's supposed to be here."

_"Ah, yes. Specialist Cannioto. Since getting here I've been digging, trying to figure out what's up with this moon. I've been getting stonewalled a lot by _your_ people, but I have managed to find references to a Specialist Cannioto being on the moon in the stray transmissions that made it out before the blackout settled into place."_

"Alright. Thanks, Captain. And I will get you those ships."

_"Thank you. Over and out."_ Trent killed the connection and turned to look at Jennifer.

"Get in contact with Childs, tell him we need some more ships for the Quarantine. I'm heading down...by the way, _how_ will I be getting down?" he asked.

"We come equipped with ODST-issue drop pods," Jennifer replied.

"Awesome." Trent turned and left the bridge. He ran into the others waiting for him in the lounge.

"What's the situation?" Eric asked.

"We're not going," Blake replied, coming out from behind Trent.

"What do you mean?" Enzo asked. Trent relayed what the Captain had told him. They argued, but Trent quickly dissuaded them, then headed for the armory while the _Deathstalker_ settled into orbit. Eric and Blake followed him as he slipped into the armory and began getting into his armor.

"So you're really going down there by yourself?" Eric asked.

"Yes, Eric. And yes, I'll be fine. Come on, I've been through worse shit than this. Hell, just look at the last op we did."

"Yeah, but you weren't alone. Plus, you have no idea if you've been through a worse op than this, as you have no idea what's going on down there. Also, no scans, no communications...it's going to be hell," Eric replied.

"Relax. Really. I've got this new suit, there are Yellowjackets and Cann down there. I'm a natural born survivor, Eric."

"Alright, but we'll be on standby, just in case," Eric said finally. Trent nodded and sealed his helmet into place. He ran a quick diagnostic on the suit and found it in proper working order, then appropriated some gear for himself. Since it had done him so well last time, he grabbed the SAW, a silenced pistol, some ammo and a few grenades. Feeling about as ready as he could, Trent headed out of the armory. He spent a few moments hunting for the drop-pod bay, and finally found it near the engine room.

The pod bay was small and cramped, but allowed for ten separate drop pods. Trent made sure he had everything, then selected a pod and punched out.


	10. Cold Silence

_**Chapter 10  
**-Cold Silence-_

It felt good to be back in a drop pod. Trent had forgotten all the little familiarities of it. How many of these had he gone down in during the war? He sharpened his focus and studied the instrument panel. He'd managed to get his hands on the last known location of the Yellowjacket squad, which happened to be where they initially touched down. After that, the blackout came down like a hammer. They had apparently begun their search at a small communications relay exactly in the middle of nowhere.

In fact, Trent realized as he studied the history and layout of the moon, almost everything here was in the middle of nowhere. Plex began as a mining moon at the turn of the century. Like all mining moons, it began to gather a bit of a following and within a few decades, the surface was littered with mining installations, colonies, military outposts, storage stations, comms relays, etc. The moon was basically untouched by the war, as the Covenant had never made it out this way. The latest census put the moon's population at little over ten thousand.

Trent studied the relay the Yellowjackets had gone to. What had drawn them there? It was small, home to little more than a dozen support personnel. Trent spent the last few moments in his pod hunting through the comms reports relating to the station, but couldn't find anything of any particular interest.

Then the pod crunched into the snowy earth. Trent popped the hatch and stepped out into the swirling snow being whipped about by the shrieking winds. Coming out of a drop pod in such a manner was usually impressive, unfortunately for Trent, there was no one around to impress. He could just barely make out the outline of the relay nearby and...something else, in front of it. He frowned and set off through the snow.

As he drew closer, Trent confirmed his fears: he was staring at the burned out, skeletal remains of a Pelican dropship. He looked around apprehensively, wondering what could have caused such destruction, but couldn't see anything immediately threatening. He wasted a few minutes poking through the debris, eventually coming up with a frustrating nothing. At this point, Trent turned on his radio.

"This is Specialist Temple of ONI Section Zero calling out to anyone in the immediate vicinity. Can anyone hear me?" Nothing. Absolute, dead silence. Trent tried his message once more before giving up. He left his radio on, though, as he trekked towards the front entrance of the relay. The structure seemed intact, at least, and besides a few broken windows on the second story, Trent couldn't see very much out of place.

At least until he stepped into the lobby. As far as lobbies went, it must have once been very plain. Just a row of lockers, a place to kick off your boots and hang your coat, a table with some chairs near a frosted-over window and a few cups of frozen coffee. What set this lobby apart from most others was the fact that several of the windows were cracked, two of the lockers were toppled over and a great deal of blood had been sprayed across the far wall. And, on top of that, it was obvious that someone had taken a flamethrower to the place.

Trent began to move slowly through the base. The lobby led to a central rec room dominated by a half-collapsed pool table occupied by a thoroughly burnt corpse. A pair of couches, some soda machines and a few arcade consoles orbited around the pool table. All were either burnt, bloodied or broken in some manner. Trent's frown deepened. Five minutes in and already things weren't going well. He sighed softly and flipped the safety off his SAW.

For a moment, Trent just stood there in the rec room, slowly surveying the area. He was perfectly silent, listening, straining his ears against the shrieking of the winds. But he couldn't hear anything. The base felt utterly dead. Trent sighed and began moving about the first floor, keeping his senses honed and ready.

In the dormitories, he found only desolation. Unmade beds, flipped over dressers and desks, curiously dark stains on the walls and broken windows. A sense of abrupt abandonment. Another two bodies, burnt to a crisp. Trent was beginning to see a pattern and he didn't like it. He moved through the messhall and found it mostly empty. He checked out a tiny security center with a pair of empty weapons lockers and a row of static-stricken monitors. Trent sighed softly as he completed his search of the first floor and moved up to the second.

Here he found an office that had apparently belonged to whoever had run the base. Trent spent a few moments hunting through the stack of datapads that occupied the desk he found and was ultimately disappointed. Most of them had been broken or wiped and the few that remained intact were nothing but standard reports. He poked through the office for another moment longer, then gave up and moved on to the second of three rooms in the second story. The infirmary. It was such an unholy mess that he hesitated for a moment.

Blood, red _and_ black, coated the walls. It dripped from the ceiling and pooled on the floor. Examination tables were dented and knocked over, medical cabinets had been felled, spilling their contents across the bloody ground. Trent slowly made his way into the room and across it to a small niche in the wall that contained a desk and chair. He settled uncomfortably into the chair and booted up the terminal built into the desk. After a few moments of searching through typical medical reports, check ups and injuries, he finally managed to hunt down a reference to the infection. Trent began reading, leaning forward.

Apparently, several days ago, someone wandered into the camp, which was a pretty impressive feet since the nearest base was five miles away and the temperatures on Plex averaged somewhere at twenty below zero on a regular basis. The guy was incoherent and covered in blood. He passed out and they rushed him to the infirmary. The report made mention of comms troubles, but this seemed to be dismissive, as apparently such troubles were common on the moon. There was also a reference to the fact that the man more than likely came from the next base over, which was a small weather research outpost, not much bigger than the relay.

Whoever was in charge decided to dispatch a few men to the research outpost and discern the nature of whatever emergency had obviously transpired there. Then, the guy who had wandered into camp had apparently died. The autopsy revealed some kind of cellular alien infection. Then there was nothing. Trent sighed, frustrated. He stood and left the infirmary. He figured the bizarre black blood he had seen had to be somehow related to the alien infection. The more he saw of this, the less he liked it. Trent came to the final room.

The communications relay itself was an utter mess, but it didn't seem to be a total loss. It was obvious some kind of conflict had gone on inside. Trent poked around the mess for a while until he managed to repair a power conduit and the whole thing flickered and spat sparks for a few seconds before coming to life. Trent hooked his suit's comms into the relay, hoping to get a boost and try to cut through whatever was enacting the communications blackout. After a few minutes of fiddling with the controls, he tried to communicate.

"This is Specialist Temple of ONI Section Zero to anyone receiving, please respond." This time around, Trent was vaguely more hopeful, as he could hear static, which was something. He tried for a few seconds more and, near the end, thought he heard something, a voice swimming through the sea of white noise, but it faded away almost immediately. Frustrated, Trent abandoned his efforts and moved back through the base.

This relay was clearly dead. He'd have to head to the next logical location: the weather research station five miles to the north. But how to get there? Trent left the main structure and circled around it, eventually finding a smaller, secondary structure around back. When he managed to get into it, Trent discovered it served as a garage and storage area. As luck would have it, there was a single vehicle left: a snow Mongoose.

Trent checked the power levels, found them adequate and hopped on.

* * *

The trip to the research station felt long and lonely. The only thing that kept Trent on track was his compass. He knew he was lucky to have it, there was nothing to see but endless snow and ice. The skies overhead were eternally gray and churning out more snow than he thought possible. He was beginning to regret not bringing someone else. Having Enzo or Eric along would have at least made this situation feel a little less lonely.

Finally, he spied the curious structure of the research station up ahead. It revealed itself slowly through the swirling snow and shrieking winds, eventually solidifying into a large, domed structure studded with all manner of equipment atop its roof. Trent parked a cautious distance away from the main entrance and tried his radio again, while keeping his eye on the motion tracker. It was completely silent. So was the radio.

Trent sighed quietly and dismounted. He let his SAW lead the way as he walked into the structure cast in frozen steel and frosted glass. He moved cautiously into the lobby, hoping that this base would yield more results than the last one. Trent had stepped into the lobby and was beginning to investigate when he heard the distinct sound of a weapon being readied, followed almost immediately by:

"Don't move." Trent froze and already began considering how fast he could move and what kind of boost his hyped-up reflexes and shields would give him. Whoever it was was coming closer, from the left. Trent wondered how the guy could've made it past his sensors and finally decided he must've been laying in wait.

"Who are you-" Trent whirled and took a step forward, snatching the battle rifle from the man's hands. There was no telling how much further it might have gone if Trent hadn't immediately recognized the man as a Yellowjacket.

"Who are _you_?" he asked, taking a step back, holding the rifle, his SAW hanging by its sling. He pointed the weapon a little away from the man.

"Shit you're fast...my name is Corporal Dribs. Yellowjacket." Trent snorted.

"Dribs? What kind of name is Dribs? And I can see that." He shrugged uncomfortably.

"It's _my_ name," he replied. Trent sighed and passed the rifle back.

"I'm Specialist Temple, ONI Section Zero. I'm looking for...you, apparently. And your squad. I assume you were sent here by Childs?" Dribs seemed relieved.

"Yeah, yeah. We were. He said to expect you. Sorry about that...I just...it's been tough ever since we landed back at that outpost."

"So what happened?" Dribs sighed heavily.

"We made landfall back there a few hours ago. We were picking through the base when our pilot reported there was someone outside the Pelican. Me and a few others went to investigate. I had just about got there when the whole damn thing blew. Guy rigged the engines to overload. Idiot ended up killing himself and the pilot, and knocking me on my ass. As luck would have it, we had unloaded a Snow Carrier Hog we'd brought with us, and we found a couple of Mongeese in the motorpool out back, so we decided to head out to the next base. Only my compass was knocked a little loose in the explosion and happened to give up the ghost while we were in transit. I got separated from everyone else and ended up here."

"I see...have you run into whatever alien virus is on the planet yet?" Trent replied. Dribs shook his head.

"No. Just a lot of dead bodies. Burnt up. I was actually getting ready to move on. I had found the next nearest outpost, which I think is where the rest of my squad went to. It's a storage center. My Mongoose is out back."

They headed back out into the cold.

"How far is it?" Trent asked.

"Two miles to the east," Dribs replied. Trent mounted his Mongoose and followed the Corporal around to the opposite side of the base, where a second Mongoose resided. Once he had his own started up, they drove off into the snowstorm.


	11. Frozen Death

_**Chapter 11  
**-Frozen Death-_

Trent couldn't get the notion that something was very slightly wrong with Dribs out of his mind. It bugged him as they drove across the frozen wastelands of Plex. He wasn't sure what it was...no, scratch that, he had _no idea_ what it was. Trent had gotten somewhat good at reading people, if there was something he didn't like about a person, he could usually point it out. After another few moments of contemplation, he abruptly realized what it was.

He couldn't read Dribs. It wasn't the armor, and although the fact that his face was hidden certainly didn't help, there was a lot you could pick up about a person from their voice and slight body movements alone. There was something almost...hollow, about Dribs. Trent frowned. What did that mean? Could it have something to do with the alien infection? Trent pulled himself out of his head as he spied something in the distance.

He'd just have to keep a sharp eye on the good Corporal. There was something in the distance alright: a cluster of large, square structures cast in gloomy, frosted metal centered around a landing pad with a control tower attached to it. At the edge of the encampment, Trent spied a Snow Hog and a Mongoose. A great sign. Hopefully those who had driven the vehicles were still alive. Trent and Dribs brought their Mongeese to a slow halt, idling up to the other derelict vehicles. They dismounted and Trent opened up a frequency.

He went through his mantra, trying to get into contact with someone. This time, he actually had something like a conversation. It was incredibly hazy and very broken, but a voice rose from the static. Trent's frustration mounted as he tried to discern genuine meaning from the words, but was at least happy with the result. About thirty seconds after the voice cut off, the doors at the base of the control tower opened up and a pair of men walked out.

One of them wore typical Yellowjacket armor, the other had what was closer to a set of traditional ODST armor: black with a trim of navy blue.

"Dribs? We thought you'd been lost in the storm," the man in black armor said as the came a comfortable proximity to each other.

"I'm afraid that's the case," the Corporal replied sheepishly. The man in black armored turned and looked at Trent.

"And who are you?"

"Specialist Temple, ONI Section Zero."

"Ah! Pleased to meet you, my name is Sergeant Trevor Duvall. Yellowjackets, Delta Squad. Childs said you'd be coming along but...well, to be honest, that stick-up-his-ass Captain was so reluctant to let us go that we didn't really want to stick around long enough for him to change his mind. Come on in out of the cold and I'll introduce you to my squad."

Trent was glad to be out of the shrieking winds. Even with his suit's heating elements, the cold was beginning to get to him. Trent suspected it was more psychological than anything else. He and the others entered into the ground floor of the control tower. It was little more than a place to hang your coat and kick off your boots and a stairwell that led to the second story. A handful of men in industrial yellow armor were clustered around. Trent could hear more moving upstairs.

"Alright, introductions all around. Everyone, this is Specialist Temple. This is the guy ONI has sent to help us out." As he spoke, others came down from the second story. Including Dribs, Trent counted eight in all. Trent listened as Duvall introduced them all. There was another Corporal, Garet, who served as their scout. Lance Corporal Alex was their sniper. PFC Meso and Private Tori were the two more technically minded ones. And PFC Martin and Private Steven were their medics. Dribs was apparently their second in command and communications expert.

"I guess it's a good thing I found him," Trent said, upon being told. Dribs shrugged.

"Not really. The communications blackout is pretty total. I'm basically useless. Doesn't matter how much we boost our signals, we're cut off," he said, sounding bummed out about it.

"Oh get over yourselves, Dribs," Duvall replied, not unkindly. "Meso, Tori, get back up there and see what you can see. You get up there too, Dribs. See if you're wrong about the comms." The three of them hurried up the stairwell. The others took to the windows and the door, standing guard, staring out into the constantly shifting snow.

"So," Trent said. "Have you found anything about this infection?" Duvall sighed, the frustration bleeding through.

"Nothing all that solid...but we have run into a problem, it seems. Before we came to the tower, we searched two of those warehouses. Nothing useful, just a few crispy corpses, but there was a terminal in one of the offices that was still active. Someone had scribbled a few notes. Most of it was incoherent, but there was one thing made very, very clear: fire. We need it if we're going to fight the infection."

"Now, hold on a minute. Is this the bullshit kind of 'we need fire' like how everyone said about the Flood? Because I could kill Flood just fine without flamethrowers, no matter how many times I heard people saying that or read it in the files."

"I'm not a hundred percent, but the person writing seemed really, really adamant that an 'infected entity' couldn't be genuinely killed without fire. Now, I typically err on the side of caution. Most of these bases come equipped with compact defoliant class flamethrowers, usually to burn off excess ice. We found a few in storage and I had Martin and Garet load up. The message, coupled with all the fried up bodies we've seen so far well..." he shrugged. "There's gotta be something to it. Other than that? Nothing. No ideas."

Trent sighed, considering the situation. Was there was a way any of them could be infected by this alien virus? What were the symptoms? Trent was getting frustrated. He needed more information. He couldn't keep going on blindly like this. He chatted it up with Duvall for another few moments and was happy to discover that he didn't get that hollow feeling from the Sergeant. In fact, he felt like this was a man he could trust, a man he could rely on. Which was good, because outside of the Survivors, Trent felt like those were drying up.

After another few moments, a dejected Dribs, Tori and Meso came back downstairs to report total failure. The comms array wasn't doing anything and the computers didn't have anything relevant. Duvall turned towards Trent.

"Well, looks like you're the boss now. What do we do?" Trent considered it.

"Well, for the moment, let's finish searching the other two warehouses. Then, I guess we'll head for the next outpost, keep searching," he replied, making a mental note to find a flamethrower. No one seemed to have a problem in the transition of power, for which Trent was grateful, he'd had enough of that shit last time around with Corporal Ryan. They left the control tower behind, moving across the snow-swept landing pad to the pair of warehouses as of yet explored. Trent settled in for the long haul as they began.

The first warehouse proved to be a long, bloody, fruitless search. Nothing but stacks of smaller crates or singular, huge crates that contained God-knew-what. The offices upstairs were abandoned and painted pictures of abrupt abandonment. After a thorough and disheartening search, the squad moved on to the final warehouse, which turned out to not quite be a warehouse at all. It was actually a split-level building.

The bottom floor housed a bit of storage and a huge cargo lift that led to somewhere underground. They left that alone for the moment and explored the top floor, which appeared to be where those who had once inhabited the base had lived. They searched derelict dormitories, empty bathrooms, lonely corridors and messhalls. A bloody infirmary. A static-lit security office. It all spoke of quiet death and bloody violence.

But no survivors. No radio contact. Nothing. The squad reconvened at the cargo elevator.

"Well, from what I've been able to tell from my map, the nearest outpost is one similar to this. A cargo shipping and handling center. This lift leads down to a tunnel that connect the two. The tunnel houses trams, big cargo-running trams. We could theoretically bring our vehicles down there via this lift, then load them up onto a tram. Provided the trams are in order, of course. What do you think?" Duvall asked.

"Any particular reason you wouldn't rather just drive there?" Trent replied.

"Well, the storm's getting worse. Visibility is basically zero. Even with all of our fancy gear, the fact of the matter is that we'd either run the genuine risk of hitting a rock or a hill or a big drop, or waste a hell of a lot of time getting to that next outpost by driving real slow." Trent nodded.

"Alright, yeah. That sounds good. Okay...why don't you take Garet, Alex and Tori back out and start driving the vehicles in here? I'll take everyone else down and we'll clear the way." Duvall nodded, round up the others and headed back out into the cold. Trent and the rest of the squad located a secondary entrance downstairs, a stairwell, and headed down it single file. Trent was out first, popping opened the door and stepping into a large room directly below the warehouse. He could see where the lift was supposed to come down.

Besides that, to his right, the room opened up into a kind of loading station where a pair of trams rested. Some of the lights flickered and he spied some pretty hefty bloodstains on the ground, but otherwise the place looked in decent working condition. The group spread out, checking out all the shadowy corners and niches. The loading bay itself was soon cleared and they moved on to the platform chamber.

Trent stared down the length of tunnel. Anything could be down there. Anything at all. Trent knew that trams like these tended to move at high speeds, and it would take a lot to stop one going full force, but...he'd seen some pretty big bad guys lately. What could be waiting for them here, in this nightmare of a frozen moon?

Once they cleared the platform, Trent had them stand guard, as there was still a side maintenance bay to check out, but he could hear sounds overhead. He hustled back up the stairs and found the others loading up the last of the Mongeese onto the platform. He gave a quick update to Duvall, then worked the controls and began the slow process of lowering the lift. While it did so, he and the others made their way back downstairs via the stairwell. Meso and Tori were already in the process of inspecting the nearest tram.

"What's the word?" Trent asked as Tori came back out. She shook her head.

"The power is drained. We need to find another power cell."

"And you can change it if we do?" Trent replied.

"Yeah. Easy as hell. There should probably be one in the maintenance bay."

"Alright. Duvall, Dribs, Garet, you're with me. Everyone else, wait here. Garet, get that flamethrower ready, just in case." They nodded and moved to comply. Trent wasn't sure why, but he kept getting the feeling that they weren't alone. He could feel tension building on the air, like static electricity before a storm.

They moved across the platform to the maintenance bay behind it. Trent took the lead, with Garet right behind him. He hit the access button. The door slid open, revealing a closed-in bay stuffed with tables littered with spare parts and big piles of crates. Not good. Trent hesitated in the doorway, listening intently, straining his ears against the silence. All he could hear was the distant shriek of the winds, overhead.

Finally, he headed inside. The others backed him up, following closely. Trent worked his way slowly, apprehensively through the stacks of supplies and crates. He kept his eye out, hunting fervently for a spare power cell. After several tense-soaked moments of silence, he finally spied a handful of spare power cells stacked on a table across the way. He began making his way across the area of open space.

Trent knew he'd made a mistake when something stepped out from behind a stack of crates and into the light. It was horrid. It was wretched. It was pure nightmare-fuel. This thing that stood before him, no, stood _over_ him, as it was nearly eight feet tall, resembled a man only in the barest, most vaguest terms of the word. Its skin was mottled and decayed, almost seeming to hang off of whatever bizarre bone structure allowed it to remain upright. It had three bulbous black eyes that oozed a disgusting tar-like substance.

One arm ended in a twisted knot of flesh vaguely resembling a blunt weapon, the other ended in crab-like pincers that looked like they could do some real damage. The creature opened its malformed mouth, revealing jagged, bloody teeth and issued a high-pitched shriek. Trent screamed and opened fire with his SAW. The bullets sprayed the creature's black blood all over the place, across every surface, and sent it stumbling backwards.

Its arm was severed, but continued flopping around despite being cut off. Trent soon ran out of ammo and the dry _click-click-click_ filled the air.

"Torch it, Garet!" he screamed, stepping back. It still hadn't gone down. Trent hurried out of the way and Garet stepped forward. He leveled the compact flamethrower at the monster and let loose with a brilliant spray of flame. The monster lit up like a torch. It began shrieking in an even higher pitch, stumbling around for several moments, then it abruptly collapsed. The men all let out a sigh of relief, watching it burn silently.

Then Trent watched in stomach-churning horror as the arm, which had finally become still, start to wriggle around some more. Abruptly, it sprouted tiny legs, like a centipede, and began to crawl away.

"Holy _shit_!" Trent screamed. Garet torched it, too, and then stepped back in horror as the arm began to shriek. Soon, it was dead, nothing more than a silently burning heap. Shaking slightly, Trent hurried over, past the burning heaps of flesh, and grabbed one of the power cells. He and the others left quickly.

"What the hell happened in there?" Alex asked.

"We ran into one of them," Trent replied, passing the power cell over to Tori, who accepted it.

"And?" Martin asked.

"And it was a goddamn nightmare," Duvall replied grimly. Everyone fell silent. Tori replaced the power cell and the tram came to life. Silently, they loaded the vehicles onto the tram, boarded it and set it into motion.


	12. Infection

_**Chapter 12  
**-Infection-_

The tram hummed along in almost complete silence. Trent sat down in the small area allotted to passengers and contemplated his situation. He was cut off from the rest of the galaxy, no communications, no means of escaping the moon, fighting against some kind of nightmarish alien infection and all he had to back him up was a handful of Yellowjackets. To be fair, Yellowjackets were typically badass, but to him, they were number three on the list. Survivors holding the number one position and Spartans at a close second.

The others were shifting around the area, talking quietly to each other or cleaning weapons. Tori was manning the controls. Trent went about checking over his weapons, making sure they were fully loaded and ready for action. He wasn't sure why he did it anymore, he couldn't remember the last time he'd forgotten to reload or experienced a jam of some kind. He supposed luck did have its privileges. Trent began studying the upcoming base via his database.

It was essentially a larger version of the one they had just come from. More warehouses, a separate dormitory complex, four landing pads and a bigger control tower. It was hooked up to other bases exactly like the one they'd just come from. It was a distribution network for the immediate region of land, funneling off supplies to and from space. Minerals and heavy metals went out, supplies and sometimes personnel came in.

Trent broadened his view of the map, looking for something more interesting. Perhaps something that might help him on his search, a medical center or something. He saw the complex of distribution centers, the weather station, the comms relay...a few more comms relays...a medical center! It was small and pretty far away, another good fifty miles to the north, but it was only area in the region that made any sense to go to. Trent cleared his throat.

"Alright everyone, listen up. It looks like there's a medical center fifty miles north of here. Once we hit the distribution complex, we're going to do a quick search of it and load up the vehicles onto another track that will take us twenty miles north, then we'll get out and drive the rest of the way." There were a string of affirmative responses. Trent sat back and closed his eyes for a moment. He began to really regret not hitting a little bit of morphine before he dropped. The weed was good, but it was already fading.

Some part of Trent thought that maybe he was beginning to rely on all this shit. The booze, the weed, the adrenaline and morphine cocktails, the women...but, when he got right down to the hard end of that line of thought, he had to genuinely ask himself what else did he have to live for? Besides his friends and this job...there was nothing. He had no family left. He didn't really have anyone outside of the Survivors.

Trent knew he should count himself lucky that he even had this job and those friends. There were many more who had a hell of a lot less. But part of him was beginning to not really care anymore. He'd faced down the Covenant, he'd seen the Flood rise and fall a dozen times by now, he'd fought monsters and bad guys...what did it matter anymore? There would be more Survivors to deal with this crap...

Trent derailed that line of thought. It was utterly selfish and irresponsible to think things like that. He had to care, because, as apathetic as he had begun, as bitter as he had become, he still thought that Humanity as a whole deserved to be protected. And he was capable enough to be compelled to do some protecting.

Trent glanced up as the tram began to slow. They were nearly there.

* * *

The process of not only searching the center but switching over the vehicles to another tram and tunnel was long and arduous. Trent took Dribs, Garet and Duvall with him to investigate the station, leaving the others to deal with the task of reloading the vehicles onto a separate tram. Which meant they had to offload them, get them back up to the surface level, getting them to another warehouse and reloading them.

Trent led the others up a narrow stairwell to the topside warehouse. It became immediately obvious that something violent had gone on and recently. A fire burned somewhere in the warehouse, several huge crates had been toppled, their contents spilt across the gritty, oil-stained floor. Blood, black and red, was sprayed liberally across the area. Distantly, Trent could hear something thumping around.

A quiet growl sounded. Trent swallowed. He prepared himself to face another horror, ready to see that same, awful visage of terror as he had the others spread out, cover and follow him. They began to wind slowly through the warehouse. They honed in on the sound of the heavy footfalls. Trent came around a large stack of crates and found himself staring at an entirely new terror. This thing was even less human than the one before.

It stood a good six and a half feet tall, walking on legs that were bent in the wrong direction. Sprouting out of its backside, like a demented tail, was a human torso. It had too long arms, its hands ending in splits with jagged claws. Its head had cracked open at the top and growing a bizarre, tube-like protrusion stuffed with teeth. Its skin was a mottled, sickly gray-red color. It issued a deep growl as it sensed Trent.

He and the others opened fire, spraying the thing with bullets. Garet stepped forward, leveling his flamethrower at the beast. It charged and crashed right into him, sending him flying backwards. The flamethrower flew from his hands. Trent let his SAW hang by its sling, knelt and retrieved the weapon. He leveled it at the monster, which was preparing for another attack, and opened up. The flames immediately consumed the horrid beast. It began roaring and flailing around. The men gave it a wide berth, waiting until it collapsed.

Trent helped Garet to his feet and tried to pass the flamethrower back. Garet shook his head.

"Maybe you should hold onto that thing. I think you can use it better than me," he said. Trent considered it, then nodded and shrugged out the SAW. He passed the weapon to Garet, who accepted it with a thanks.

They continued their search of the warehouse after making sure the new abomination was dead. Once they had cleared it, they allowed the others to continue the process of transferring the vehicles. They moved on to the warehouse that would lead them to their next destination and cleared it and the tram station beneath.

Once the route was cleared, Trent let the rest of the squad continue with their final loading procedures, then continued his investigation. The hunt through the warehouses and subsequent tram stations was long and tedious. There was a great deal of devastation. Blood and burned bodies everywhere. It was obvious that the infection had hit hard here. They encountered another few horrors shambling through the warehouses. It was unclear what they were doing and how much, if any, of their humanity remained.

Trent found himself already growing accustomed to exterminating them. He was glad to have the flamethrower, but knew he needed fuel for it. Garet hadn't been able to locate any, and they couldn't find any spare canisters in the warehouses. They spent an hour doing a sweep of the warehouses and tram stations, then moved on to the dormitories structure. By that time, the others had finished loading up. Trent left Tori and Alex to guard the tram and sent the rest to begin clearing out the control tower. The faster they could leave, the happier Trent would be.

The dormitories were as grim and haunting as the warehouses. Perhaps more so. While the warehouses spoke of work and gritty, industrial technology, the dorms spoke of life and leisure and sometimes love. Trent had mostly hardened himself against the knowledge that there were genuine people in situations like these, people who probably didn't deserve whatever nightmarish, insane events had befallen them. It was an essential part of the job. But, sometimes, he'd see something small: a locket, a picture on the wall, a note. It shot straight past all his defenses and hit him in what little heart he had left.

He sucked it up, like he always did. He had to. Those in the control tower were wrapping up their search just as Trent and the others were wrapping up theirs. Trent ended up in the infirmary. It had been hit hard, but not hard enough that he didn't notice the very obvious case of hypodermic needles sitting at the far end of the room next to a computer terminal. It was still on, a text document open, words scrawled across the screen in blocky black text. Trent frowned and told the others to check the room while he investigate this curiosity.

_To whom it concerns, this is the __**only**__ bit of data of any relevance that we have managed to discern about the Infection. A man can become infected without anyone else's knowledge. Once the Infection has taken over, it will do everything in its power to remain hidden and strike in the dark, to infect others. Presently, there are only two methodologies of __testing and exposing an Infected__. The first is to mix the__ir__ blood with Blue Nine, a cleansing compound meant to disinfect infirmaries. I have rigged all of our hypos with Blue Nine. The second, more basic way, is to take a sample of blood and apply a bit of burning metal to it. Both should result in the same thing. If there is no infection: nothing. If there is an infection: a loud, piercing shriek._

"Guys, get over here. Right now," Trent said. He opened up his comms. "Everyone report to the infirmary _immediately_." He looked over the container and felt a bit of subtle relief: there were enough hypos for all of them. He let everyone read the document as they came in and soon all nine of them stood silent and solemn.

"So...basically what you're saying," Duvall said uneasily. "Is that any one of us could be infected right now...and we wouldn't know it?" Trent nodded.

"That's what it sounds like."

"I don't get it..." Garet said quietly. "I mean, _how_ do you become infected? We're all in suits."

"Airborne? Bloodborne? No idea. Have you been keeping your suits airtight? I haven't, I don't want to waste my suit's oxygen." The group admitted sadly that they hadn't.

"But...I _still_ don't get it. I mean, okay, from what we've seen so far, the infection is pretty damned obvious. I mean, you saw those things."

"I don't _know_, Garet. But I do know that we have a viable test."

"Oh sure, that could be complete bullshit." The others shifted nervously. The concept that one or more of them could be posing as a Human, a monster in disguise...it was more than a little disturbing. Trent grabbed one of the hypos.

"I just need a little bit of blood," Trent replied.

"...you go first," Garet said. Trent nodded. He had a sense of fair play. He stuck the needle into the injector port that came standard in all suits, meant for ease of access for injections. He hit the button and extracted a small bit of blood. It stung, but it was nothing he wasn't used to by now. He held it up for them all to see, then hit the mixer. The Blue Nine, which glowed blue in a smaller shaft of glass attached to the top of the needle, was released into his blood. He waited. There was no reaction. He let out a small sigh of relief.

"I'll go next," Duvall said.

"It doesn't really prove anything," Tori pointed out.

"We'll test everyone, then we'll see," Trent replied. He tossed away the used hypo and got another. He used it on Duvall and hit the mixer. Nothing. He moved on, making those he tested stand a little to the side, for which they seemed vaguely relieved. Tori was clean. Alex. Meso. Tori still didn't seem convinced that this was actually accomplishing anything. And Trent quietly agreed with her. Until he tested Garet.

"Let's get this over with," he sighed. "Goddamn _hate _needles." Trent stuck the needle in, took the blood and raised it a little. He hit the mixer. Almost instantly a loud shriek pierced the chilled air and the glass container exploded. Trent cried out in shock, dropping what was left of the hypo, and took a step back from Garet, who was now frozen stock still. Through his clear visor, Trent could see that his face had gone completely blank.

Trent raised the flamethrower, then watched in pure, fascinated horror as Garet's entire body began to vibrate violently. At first, Trent thought he was having some kind of seizure...until bits and pieces of his helmet and shards of his faceplate were sent flying in every direction. Garet's face had begun to melt off, revealing a twisted skeletal structure that only vaguely resembled humanity. His skin fell away and tentacles shot out of his eyes. More of his armor was coming off as blood and other fluids sprayed everywhere.

"What's happening?! _What's happening_!?" Alex screamed.

"Torch it, Temple!" Duvall roared. Trent was snapped out of his trance and squeezed the trigger. It was clear that Garet was almost done doing...whatever it was he'd been doing. He lit up like a torch. The others backed away from the shrieking inferno. The thing that had once been Garet took a few stumbling steps, then collapsed, burning silently. After a few moments, Trent pulled a fire extinguisher off the wall and put it out. The corpse smoldered quietly, smelling of pure evil.

"What...what was _that_!?" Duvall snapped. Trent was staring at the corpse.

"I guess...when they're exposed they...burst out, to defend themselves," he said softly.

"Holy Christ..." Tori whispered. "I guess you were right." Trent looked up, at the others who hadn't been tested yet. He was tempted to believe there could be no others, that any infected members now knew for a fact that the test worked and that they'd soon be exposed. That if there _were_ any infected in the group, they would've just burst out or maybe run when Garet had gone. But he couldn't take any chances.

"Here, cover me," he said, handing the flamethrower to Duvall, who nodded and accepted it silently. Trent stared grimly at those who remained. Steven. Martin. Dribs. Trent settled his gaze narrowly on Dribs, who hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward. He grabbed another needle, stuck it through the port and took some blood. He took a step back, holding the hypo a little away from him. The others tensed. Trent hit the mixer. Nothing. Dribs seemed to visibly relax.

"Alright, get over there," Trent said. Dribs nodded and moved to be with the others. Trent grabbed the final hypos and tested the others. Nothing. They were clean. Trent felt a little odd. He had been almost certain that Dribs had been infected. Was he just being paranoid? Or was Dribs just a pretty emotionless guy? It bugged Trent, but he let it go. They now had a proven method of exposing the infection.

"Alright, everyone. Spread out, searching the infirmary. Hypos and Blue Nine. I want it all," Trent said. They nodded without comment, shocked into silence, and began their search. Unfortunately, whoever had written that note was right: he'd loaded up the last of the hypos with the last of the Blue Nine. They'd just have to keep an eye out for it during their travels. Their search complete, the group, now eight, moved back to the proper tram.

Trent sat in silent contemplation as the tram shot through the flickering, bloody tunnels, towards an unknown destination.


	13. Paranoia

_**Chapter 13  
**-Paranoia-_

Trent was getting increasingly worried. He still had no idea how someone became infected. Could it be airborne? But if it was, then why weren't the others infected? Why wasn't he? Garet _had_ been hit by the creature...had it somehow broken the seal on his armor? Trent sighed very softly. This was a problem the likes of which he had never faced before. At least it was something new. Trent cleared his head, ready for the worst, hoping to at least get out alive. He thought about Cannioto. He still hadn't come across even a single hint of where the man was.

Hopefully he'd at least _visited_ the medical center. The man was a medic after all. The tram began to slowly come to a halt. The others roused themselves, gathering their thoughts and arsenals. Trent gripped the flamethrower firmly, ready to put it to use at a second's notice. The tram rolled into the station. There didn't appear to be anything immediately threatening waiting for them on the platform beyond. Trent stepped out, leading the way.

He had most of the members of Delta Squad spread out and search the area. Time passed in fragments of bloody solitude. Only the shrieking of the winds kept them company as they hunted through the pile of crates that had been stacked haphazardly on the platform, obviously ready to be shipped out. They cleared the platform and the maintenance bay tucked away at the back, finding nothing but old blood and cold death.

Trent took the time to do an examination of the distribution complex. It all echoed of things he'd come to expect of this moon: blood, death, terror and the cold. They encountered another pair of shambling horrors and were careful to fry them before they could get within reaching distance. There were no survivors. Trent was beginning to wonder if he and Delta Squad were all that was left alive on this forsaken moon.

He hoped not. Losing Cann would really suck. There was something very pleasant about the man's blunt nature. They managed to bring the vehicles up out of the ground and within another hour, they were on their way once more. The storm had lessened this far away and visibility was way up. Trent took to his Mongoose, not entirely comfortable with being in closer quarters with anyone at the moment.

The trip took almost an hour, as, despite heightened visibility, they had to keep the speed within reason. They were beginning to run low on power as the outline of the medical center began to fade into view. Trent rode up to the perimeter of the center and stared at it, a little disappointed. He expected something a lot...bigger. This one story structure that couldn't have held very many personnel next an empty landing pad wasn't much to look at. He dismounted and brought the flamethrower into play. Already, he could see damage.

Once the others were dismounted and ready, Trent began advancing on the center. He let his flamethrower lead the way as he approached the small stairwell that led up to the front door. It had been bashed in and tossed aside by something particularly powerful. The interior of the main lobby was cold and the floor was covered with pools of blood and melted snow. There were three doors. They were all marked.

One led to the living quarters, another to utilities, another to the surgical wing.

"Search the place. Look for anything relating to-" Trent broke off as the door opened and a man in a white hazmat armor, the kind some medics wore when they were sent into contaminated areas where there was still fighting going on, stepped out. He carried a flamethrower.

"Nobody move." His voice brooked no argument. Trent covered the man with his own flamethrower, but remained still. Armor could stand up to a lot, especially Yellowjacket armor, and his own, but militarized flamethrowers tended to be really hard to put out once they got going. And he was holding a militarized model.

"Who are you?" Trent asked.

"That doesn't matter yet. All of you, drop your weapons, move over into the surgical wing. Now." He gestured slightly with the flamethrower.

"Do it," Trent said. Delta Squad complied reluctantly. They dropped their various weapons on the floor and moved over to the door. Trent opened it, feeling naked now without his weapon. But he had his suit, his shields and his luck. If worst came to worst, he felt confident that he could rush the guy and take him down.

They filed into the surgical wing. It was a bloody mess, the windows broken out, the examination tables flipped over or sometimes ripped loose from their moorings. There was no one else in the room. The man in the white suit came in last, still covering them, and left the door open behind you.

"Is this all of you? No one else?"

"Yeah. Just us," Trent replied. The man seemed to consider this for a moment, then walked over to one of the medical cabinets and pulled it open. Careful to keep them covered with his flamethrower, a happy task while trying to maneuver supplies out of the cabinet, the man began extracting what Trent recognized as more test kits.

"So you know about the infection?" Trent asked, nodding to the kits. The man nodded.

"Yes. I do. You must be from offworld. There are no Yellowjackets on Plex."

"That's right," Trent replied. "We've already seen the test. Already applied it. One of our men was infected." The man hesitated slightly.

"And?"

"He burst out," Trent replied bluntly. "It was very violent and bloody. We know about the tests and the fire."

"Good. So you aren't complete idiots. I suspected Yellowjackets wouldn't be. But I must be sure. I need to test you all. You first," he said, pointing the flamethrower at Trent. He nodded and stepped forward, offering his shoulder, where the port was. The man shook his head,

"No. Take off your glove. I fell for that shit once more. Never again." Trent frowned, but took off his right glove, leaving him feeling very exposed. The man stuck the needle into the back of his hand and extracted a bit of blood.

"What do you mean?" Trent asked.

"Not yet. First, tests," the man replied. The hypos were already loaded up with Blue Nine. The man mixed the blood with the Blue. There was no reaction. He relaxed visibly. "Okay, go grab your flamethrower and come back here." Trent nodded. He hurried back to the main room and retrieved his flamethrower. He hurried back to the room, then leveled the flamethrower at the unknown man.

"Your turn," he said flatly. The man hesitated, then finally nodded. He reluctantly removed one of his gloves and allowed Trent to take a little of his blood. Trent hit the mixer. Nothing happened. Trent breathed a sigh of relief.

"Okay, that's good to know," he said. The man replaced his glove and retrieved his flamethrower once more. The men turned to face the others, the Yellowjackets. Trent wondered if somehow someone could have been infected and given them the slip. But how? This guy seemed to know his stuff. They began the slow process of testing the Yellowjackets again, one by one. Duvall went first and passed his test.

Tori went next. She was still clean. Martin. Steven. They were both solid. As each person passed the test, they were allowed to retrieve their weapons. Soon, just Dribs, Alex and Meso were all that was left, standing on one side of the room. Dribs stepped forward. Trent kept him covered, interested to see if he had somehow slipped by the first round of testing. The man in the hazmat suit did the test. Trent tensed.

There was no reaction. He relaxed, slightly disappointed.

"Alright, you next," the man said, pointing at Alex. Who shrugged and stepped forward, taking off his glove and offering his hand. The man applied the test. He hit the mixer button and almost instantly there was a shriek.

"Shit!" he cried, leaping back. Everyone backed away as Alex began vibrating. The man dropped his flamethrower in his shock, cursed and knelt to retrieve it.

"Burn it! Burn it!" he was screaming. Trent raised his flamethrower as everyone backed away. Everyone but Meso, who had nowhere to go. The Alex-Thing was faster than the Garet-Thing had been. It turned, raised its arm and abruptly the gloved hand detached, shooting forward like a harpoon. It punched right through Meso's armor and lodged in his chest. Meso crashed against the far wall, screaming.

Trent squeezed the trigger. Alex went up like a torch and tried to make for the window, but collapsed into a heap before it could get there. Almost without thinking, Trent turned the torch on Meso, who was already beginning to make strange noises. He lit the former Yellowjacket up as well and stepped back, watching both Infected silently burn.

"Okay," Trent said, turning to face the man in the suit. "We're all clean...would you mind telling me how he slipped by our first round of testing?"

"I wouldn't. These things...they learn. They're _smart_. They learned to keep some uncontaminated blood near the injector. Don't worry, they can't do it with the hand thing. Too specific, not enough time. Though it would be a good idea to mix it up in the future. This armor makes it difficult, though. Best to keep your hands to yourself, everyone. Don't touch _anything_ you don't have to. Also, my name is Thorne."

"Alright, Thorne. I'm Temple, from ONI, Section Zero. You seem to know your shit, so tell me your story," Trent replied. Thorne nodded and, after a brief introduction with the rest of the team, he began speaking while simultaneously gathering supplies from the surgical bay.

"I used to work for ONI. I was a medic. I used to research epidemics. Infections. I was great at my job. Until I got fired for asking too many questions. ONI doesn't like that, I've noticed. They like to keep people in the dark. Well, I ended up landing a job here, and I got good at listening in on radio frequencies. Before all this shit went down, apparently a mining operation on the other side of the moon found something. Something buried in the ice and rock. Then I heard reference of an unscheduled arrival, then nothing. Shortly after the colony stopped transmitting, comms began going out all over the place. Then...the infection."

Throne shuddered.

"It was awful. We had people showing up and I noticed something bizarre but so insignificant as to be almost unnoticeable. Something off about their cells. On a hunch, I ran some tests, and discovered the true nature of the infection. Most of the people that came to us were infected. I exposed one...they all burst out. I barely survived the assault, but, in the end, I was the only one. I began transmitting information about the infection for as long as I could and managed to get a Quarantine call out, then the comms blackout went into effect," he explained.

"So, it was you who put the Quarantine into effect...what have you been doing since then?" Trent asked. The others had dispersed, spreading throughout the small medical facility.

"Preparing to leave. There's nothing for me here. We have an emergency Snow Hog out there. I was going to load up on supplies, head east, for the other side of the moon. Try to get to that mining camp, see what it was they dug up. It must have something to do with the infection."

"Wow. You're pretty take charge." Throne chuckled.

"Yep. I'm afraid so. What about you? What's your story?" Trent ran through his brief history, which intrigued Thorne a little bit.

"I bet your friend might be headed that way, too." Trent sighed softly.

"Surely there must be another way to get there besides just driving." Throne shrugged.

"You said so yourself, navigation of ships is being screwed with as well. There _is_ a starport about twenty miles east of here, en route. Maybe if we could get there and get a ship, take a look at the navigational equipment and see if we can do anything..."

"Yeah, I guess so...alright everyone, load up!" Trent called.


	14. Scavenger Hunt

_**Chapter 14  
**-Scavenger Hunt-_

The winds howled with the longevity of eternally damned souls. To Trent, they sounded like a freshly exiled being, despairing on the far side of Hell. He kept to his Mongoose as they drove across the endless wastelands of Plex. He was looking forward to getting to this starport and maybe getting onto a ship. Having a Pelican would help tremendously. All this driving around was getting pretty tedious.

Trent contemplated the rest of the squad. They were all potential threats now. Even though the test had cleared them, how many times could he reasonably test them? And, despite what Thorne had said, Trent still felt uncertain that an infected entity couldn't just fool the test again. It complicated things. A lot. He supposed it would just be best to keep to himself and not touch anyone. But when it came time to leave...there were a lot of people probably still left alive on the surface. They would have to come up with a more certain test if any of them were to be allowed to leave. Because letting this thing out was far, far too dangerous.

Trent spied the distant outlines of the starport up ahead. The snow and mist seemed to part as they drew closer. The first thing he noticed, however, was a perimeter fence. They drove up to it and Trent stared through the chainlink. He spied landing pads, lots of them, and the outline of a huge control tower, as well as more structures, further on. The group slowly drove around the perimeter until they found their way in: a gate bashed in by what must have been a particularly large and powerful thing. That gave Trent some pause.

They drove around slowly, up and onto the landing pads. They were empty. Trent felt his hopes begin to fall as they drove in a slow circle around the control tower, across the snow-swept pads that orbited it. His reserves of hope almost ran out...until they came around the tower to the final pad and spied a Pelican.

"There!" Thorne cried happily. "Oh thank _God_!" They drove up to it eagerly, but Trent's instincts began whispering to him when he noticed that the back ramp was open and light was spilling out. He hopped off his Mongoose, flamethrower at ready and motioned for the others to be ready. Duvall came with him and the others covered them. The pair worked their way slowly up to the ramp, then peered cautiously within.

There didn't appear to be anybody inside. Trent and Duvall moved up the ramp, weapons at ready. A quick sweep of the area revealed that someone had once been here, but they were gone now. The cockpit was dark and bloody. Back in the main cabin, the floor panels had been opened and it was obvious someone had been working on something.

"Hey Tori, get up here," Duvall called. She appeared a moment later.

"Yeah, boss?"

"Check this bird out. Make sure she can fly. Looks like someone was screwing with it." Tori nodded and slipped carefully into the cockpit. She tried to fire up the controls, but nothing happened. After a moment of hunting around, she hit something and one screen flickered weakly to life. Another few moments passed, then she sat back with a frustrated sigh.

"This is just _great_," she growled.

"What is it?" Trent asked.

"This bird looks pretty shot. Like someone seriously messed with it. I don't know why they didn't just blow the damned thing up if they were going to go to this much trouble to disable it...we're gonna need some spare parts to even get it up and running."

"Like?" Duvall asked.

"The power cells are dead. One of the engines needs a few key parts replaced. The navigation board is fried. I'll need a few new motherboards in here and some of the circuitry has been fried to hell..."

"I'm pretty sure we can find all those parts in the base. I mean, this _is_ a starport," Trent replied. Tori nodded.

"Yeah, I suppose so. If you can get me to a security console, I can probably hack in, find inventory, see what we've got to work with." Trent left Martin and Steven behind to keep the Pelican safe and had them keep a radio channel open and report in every five minutes. Their short range frequencies seemed to have improved slightly, enough that they could hear each other within a reasonable range.

He didn't like leaving two of his men behind, alone, without any real backup in a situation like this. But he liked losing the Pelican even less. They made for the control tower, the biggest one encountered so far, and made their way to the top. The place was sprayed with blood, red and black. Cracks ran through the observation windows atop the control tower and the place was a mess. But Tori managed to find a security terminal and fired it up. Another few moments passed in uncomfortable silence. Trent checked in with Martin and Steven. Tori finally sat back.

"Okay...well, good news and bad news. The good news is that the parts we need are at this base. The bad news is that they're split up. The basement of this control tower contains some spare power cells. There's a navigation board in a storage bay at the edge of the northwestern pad. Spare engine parts are in one warehouse, and motherboards and circuits are in another." They all looked to Trent, who considered the situation.

"Alright, Duvall, take Dribs and Tori. You three will get the power cells and the engine parts. I'll take Thorne and gather the motherboards, circuits and the navigation board." They all replied affirmatively.

"Here," Tori said, punching something into a datapad, then handing it over to Trent. "There's a list of the things you'll need, precisely, and their exact locations."

"Thanks...well, let's get to work. The sooner we fix this ship, the sooner we can see if we'll be able to navigate or not," Trent said. The others agreed and soon Trent and Thorne were back outside, headed for the storage bay.

"So...Thorne. You said you were thrown out of ONI for asking too many questions."

"Hey, you actually listened to me! People don't normally do that. But yeah, that's right." Trent chuckled.

"What were you questioning?" Thorne was silent for a moment, then he began speaking.

"Well...I started...snooping, I guess is the right word. I had been hearing rumors about questionable experiments basically since I joined. And, for the most part, I dismissed them. People love to make shit up and scare each other, even in a place like ONI. Perhaps especially there. But as the years went on and I started raising in the ranks, some of the stuff I saw...well, those rumors started sounding more and more plausible. I began digging in my off hours, asking a lot of questions. And I started to get close to something. Something important. All I ever got that was solid were two words, then I got booted."

"And those two words?"

"Black Ops." Trent frowned, feeling sorry for the guy. Everything about Thorne, his word usage, his stance, his eyes, it all spoke of intellect and dedication. It also spoke of a broken man who more than likely drank himself to sleep every night now. They were silent as they crossed the pads and came to the storage bay. It wasn't a very big building and once they had gained access, they found that it was just a room, crammed with crates. The men spent five minutes clearing it, making sure it was safe, then began hunting.

"So...who are you Temple, really?" Thorne asked suddenly. Trent glanced up from the crate he'd pried open and was rooting around in.

"What do you mean? I'm an ONI Specialist. Section Zero." Thorne rolled his eyes.

"Give me a break, Temple. I was _in_ Section Zero. You don't have that stick-up-your-ass that all Specialists do. You aren't a Specialist, I can see that. You're too...nice. You don't bark orders, you don't snap at someone for not completing a task in an unreasonable amount of time. And there's just...something about you. I can't say what, for sure, but you've got this almost...ugh, I hate to fall back on words like this but...you've got this almost aura about you, you know? Like a presence. Like...you're more _real_ than everything else."

Trent considered it. Just how secret _were_ the Survivors? Did it matter? Chances were Thorne wasn't going to get off this rock anyway...and, well, to be honest, Trent just liked the guy. He could see them being drinking buddies, like Mac. He opened up a personal channel between him and Thorne.

"Alright. Fair enough. I'm a Survivor. I'm working with ONI, but I'm above them. Above Section Zero." Thorne stared at him.

"Survivor?"

"That's what they call us. We're scientifically lucky. As in, luck sticks to us. We're technically more likely to survive insane situations and scenarios than any other soldier, even Spartans, although a lot of the Spartans are as lucky as we are. I think the Chief might've been the luckiest one they ever found. They give us good gear and throw us at crazy situations. I'm here looking for another Survivor and kind of stumbled into this whole thing."

"Wow."

"Yeah, it gets better. We're after Black Ops." Thorne stared at him.

"What do you mean?" Trent spent a few moments giving him the rundown of the situation with Black Ops. "So I was right!" Thorne cried in exasperation. Trent nodded reluctantly.

"Yeah, you were. You know...if we get through this all, I could probably get you a spot on my ship. I mean, you worked with ONI, you seem like you know your shit with medicine...what would you say?"

"I'd say hell yes. I hate this place. I'd be nice to do some real work."

"Well...I dunno if I could promise real work, as we either tend to come back in good health...or not at all. But you'd be on a ship, among people who actually gave a crap and would probably get along with you." Thorne shrugged.

"Sounds good to me...hey, I found it." He reached into the crate he'd been searching through and held up the green, circuit-embedded board. Trent checked in with the others. Things were quiet at the Pelican and Duvall and the others had gathered the power cells and were just about to the Pelican to drop them off. Trent gave them his own updates, secured the board in his suit and then headed off with Thorne for the warehouse.

They moved through the shifting snowstorm, the area lit only by the dim blue glow emanating from a long line of poles stuck into the ground. They were there to help get around the base in particularly bad snowstorms. All of them led somewhere. Trent had a solid location for the warehouse and kept himself pointed towards it. As they made their way through the falling snow, he sensed something out there, hidden in the shadows.

The sun was already fading from the gray skies, making them even darker. They would be heading towards the terminator, which would plunge them into darkness sooner rather than later. Trent tried to see what was out there, but even with his enhanced vision, he couldn't see much of anything. His motion tracker flickered to life every now and then. He sighed in frustration and kept going, the warehouse was just up ahead.

They had just made it to a side entrance when something dark and decidedly inhuman lurched out of the snow. Trent whirled and fired, a jet of blazing flames shooting forth. The creature, which Trent only caught a glimpse of, immediately lit up like a torch and began shrieking. It turned and ran off into the shifting snowfall.

"Damn, you've got good reflexes," Thorne murmured.

"You kind of have to in this line of work," Trent replied. They entered the warehouse. For once, it looked like this place had been mostly untouched. Which made a certain kind of sense: there was no reason for anyone to be here. As they cleared the area, then began searching for the motherboards and circuits, Trent began thinking. It bothered him that they hadn't encountered even a single survivor besides Thorne.

These places, while isolated, supported a community, even if it was a small one. Was the infection so virulent that it could so thoroughly wipe everyone out so fast? Luck was with them this time, they managed to find the parts they were looking for in ten minutes flat. Trent led Thorne back out into the snow and soon everyone had converged at the ship. Tori looked over all the parts and, once she was satisfied, got to work.

Trent and the others played the waiting game. It was mostly silent. Trent and Duvall patrolled around the exterior of the ship while the others waited inside. Five minutes passed. Then fifteen. Finally, when the thirty minute mark was creeping up, Tori came out from under the engine and popped her neck, grinning.

"Damn I'm good," she said. Then she headed back into the ship. A moment later, she confirmed her statement: the ship was flyable. "Now," she said. "Let's see about this navigational blackout." Trent sighed quietly.

More waiting. Wonderful.


	15. Fear

_**Chapter 15  
**-Fear-_

The answer to the navigational problem was easier than Trent thought it would be. While the navigation equipment itself was screwed, they still had basic maps of the planet in their databases and functional compasses. Without the navigational array, Tori said that it would be 'flying-by-the-seat-of-your-pants' kind of flying, but she felt confident enough that they could do it. So they loaded up, sealed the Pelican and took off.

Trent was silent as he stared out the window nearest to him, lost in thought, hardly noticing the snow as it whipped by the ship. Despite everything, he found his mind wandering to Veronica. He'd been thinking about her more than he wanted to admit. If there was something Trent didn't like, it was a loose end, something he'd left undone or felt that he hadn't had closure on. Veronica hadn't exactly left him at the best time of his life, and he'd stormed out of their relationship. She was still out there, somewhere, doing something.

Or someone. Trent knew he had no right to be jealous, and, even as the thought surfaced, he was surprised by how much less it hurt than it had even a month ago. It still hurt, but it didn't make him consider taking the bullet out at least. Trent had had his own share of...lovers wasn't the right word, it implied too much in the way of a relationship, at least it always had to him, and there had been nothing of a relationship with those Yellowjacket girls.

But Melissa had been...something different. He missed her, not as much as Veronica, but he did miss her. Despite that, he wasn't looking forward to seeing her. And then there was Kiza...what was he supposed to make of that? It had been awkward with her at first, but he'd almost been disturbed by how easy the sex became with her, and how fast. But, at the end of it, Trent was legitimately surprised to find that he didn't feel...weird.

It was curious, and something he never thought he could accomplish, but he'd managed to make love to his best friend's girlfriend and walked away without any of the three of them feeling bizarre about it. He hoped that he could do it again with similar success. But as for the other women...maybe it was because he'd finally had some closure with Lindsay. Should he try to contact Veronica? He could. He knew he could. No matter where she was, how well hidden she might think she was with her ONI status, he could find her.

But what would he say? Trent sighed quietly. He wanted a cigarette, but knew better than to risk exposing anymore of himself than he already was.

"Whoa...what the hell?" Tori said abruptly, snapping Trent out of his thoughts. He glanced over to the cockpit.

"What's wrong-" The world exploded into a torrent of shrieking metal and blossoming flames. Abruptly, one side of the Pelican had a huge gash in it and the winds and snow shrieked in through the hole. Chaos erupted as everyone began screaming, scrambling to get a hold on something. Trent felt the Pelican began descending at a sharp angle, heading earthwards. He tried to see what was happening, tried to drown out the screaming and the shuddering. Immediately he could see that a couple of people were missing.

"Oh well, what the hell," he muttered, and initiated the armor lock he'd had Childs install. Then the Pelican slammed into the cold ground and he hit his head so hard he blacked out.

* * *

Trent woke to a whiteout. He gasped and tried to sit up, but his armor lock was still in effect, freezing him in place. With trembling, numb fingers, he deactivated it. He was cold, so very cold. His thermal units were offline, leaving him freezing. How long had he been out? His HUD was dead, his faceplate cracked.

Trent groaned and sat up. A pile of snow fell off his faceplate. He looked around. Nothing but white, endless white. Slowly, painfully, he climbed to his feet. He was freezing and he needed to find a way to put a stop to that. In the far distance, through the shifting snow, he spied a pillar of black smoke. And, closer, flashlights, swaying and bobbing. Coming towards him.

"Hey!" he called out, but his voice came out hardly above a whisper. He began stumbling forward, digging furrows in the snow as he lurched on. One of the figures began to solidify into a suit of black armor.

"Duvall!" he called, finding his voice a little. "Who made it? Who-" Trent stopped speaking abruptly as the figure raised the weapon it was carrying, leveling it directly at him. He began to react, but his senses had been numbed by his extended stay in the snow. There was a bright blue flash and abruptly the world went black again.

* * *

"Trent...wake up."

Trent came awake, but didn't open his eyes. He didn't want to. He was in too much pain. Everything seemed to hurt, his joints, his skin, his head. He shifted, slightly, and a million pins and needles shot through him. He groaned, thickly.

"Oh good, he's alive." That voice...Trent opened his eyes and was greeted with the sight of a generic steel ceiling, slightly curved at the edges. He forced himself to sit up, biting back sounds of anguish as he did. He found himself in an enclosed space, very much like a jail cell or holding chamber. The front wall wasn't there, at least not entirely. A shimmering field of blue energy locked him into the tiny room. Across the way he could see a similar cell, containing the very man he'd been looking for since he'd set down on Plex.

"Cann!" he cried, his voice coming out as a harsh rasp.

"Good to see you, too, Temple." Trent spent a few moments staggering to his feet and ended up leaning on the wall. It had been a while since he'd felt this much like shit. He'd have killed for an injection of morphine.

"What happened to you Cann? Where are we? What's going on?" Cann held up his hands as if in defense. All he wore was a generic black jumpsuit, the kind Trent himself had been reduced to. He felt very naked without his armor.

"Whoa, relax. One question at a time. We're at some newly fashioned research facility. They managed to throw this thing up _fast_."

"Who did?"

"Black Ops, obviously. They're here for the Infection."

"Yes, and I suppose _you two_ are here for the same thing, hmm?" Trent glanced over at the new voice. A tall, thin, very pale man with a shaved head in a black uniform stepped forward. He stared malignantly at Trent with eyes that might well have been chips of blue ice.

"And who are you, you little shit?" Trent sneered. The man smiled, obviously not bothered by the comment.

"Steel. I'm here, on behalf of Black Ops, in charge of Operation Deep Freeze. And I am incredibly lucky to get two Survivors here in one place for my experiments. My wonderful experiments..."

"Aw hell," Trent muttered. Steel smiled winningly at him, then his smile faltered as, distantly, something exploded, rocking the base. The power flickered briefly.

"If you will excuse me, I'll be back momentarily," he murmured, turning on his heel and marching quietly out of the room, his hands clasped firmly behind his back. Trent watched him go, then looked at Cann, who just shrugged. Trent waited a moment, thinking, then opened his mouth to speak. As he did, the power flickered and died. He and Cann took the opportunity immediately, stepping beyond the now-dead force shields. They stumbled out into the corridor just in time as the lights flickered back on and the shields came back.

Someone screamed and something meaty hit the floor. Both men glanced over and saw half of Martin twitching on the floor. He had tried to step out and hadn't made it in time, the force field cutting him neatly in half. Well, mostly neatly.

"Holy shit..." Duvall whispered. There were others in the corridor besides the two Survivors. Duvall, Thorne and Tori.

"Alright, we need to get moving. We need weapons, tests, armor..."

"And to let me out," Steven said firmly. Trent looked around and spied Steven, who was still sitting in one of the cells. Trent sighed softly.

"Why didn't you get out?" he asked.

"We don't all have great reflexes and besides, there was like three seconds of time. I heard what happened to Martin."

"Well, if another power flux comes, make sure to get out." Steven snorted.

"Forget that! Find the controls and turn this damned thing off!" he snapped. Trent sighed and rolled his eyes. He spent a quick moment checking all the other cells, but they were empty save for Steven and half of Martin.

"Where's Dribs?" Duvall shook his head.

"I managed to find him before they got us out there, in the snow...he didn't survive the impact. Broke his neck either getting sucked out or when he hit the ground. He's gone." Trent sighed softly. Not many of them left now. He made sure to keep a careful distance from the others. Any one of them could be infected. A cold rock settled into his gut. _He could be infected_. They needed tests. Badly. But that also needed weapons.

"We have to move," Trent said finally. Cann seemed to agree. Distantly, but closer this time, something else exploded. The power flickered, briefly, but not enough to lower the fields. Someone was screaming and bullets were being fired.

"We'd better hurry," Cann agreed. They made their way down the corridor to a closed door at the end. Tori had it open in a moment. It led to an empty antechamber, which featured another closed door directly ahead and a stairwell leading up to the left. They hurried up it and found an abandoned security station at the top. Trent killed the force shields and they went back down and collected Steven, then regrouped at the only door out of there.

"Everyone stay sharp and try not to get noticed. We _might_ be able to stay out of everyone's way in what I assume is chaos out there and grab some gear before we're forced to have a showdown," Trent said. They all responded affirmatively. Tori got the door open. Beyond was a corridor, empty of life. The group slowly made their way down it, listening to the sounds of calamity and chaos beyond the steel walls that enveloped them.

Trent took point, opening the next door, finding it unlocked. He froze as a Black Ops soldier ran by, screaming. Behind him was a horror of twisted flesh and screaming inhumanity, chasing after him on uneven limbs. Trent waited a few seconds more, then cautiously peered out. They had come to an antechamber with a terminal. It was empty now, but it was obvious the conflict had come here already. Trent noted how _fast_ everything could go to hell.

Tori got to the terminal, booted it up and cracked the security lockout. In a moment, she had a layout of the base. Trent had them all memorize a route to their ultimate goal: Command Control. There was an armory nearby and an infirmary not far beyond that. Once they had it down, the group left the antechamber, hustling down another corridor to the unguarded armory. All around them the base boiled with chaos.

"Oh, thank God," Trent whispered once they had the armory door open. It was obvious that the place had been raided, but there were still enough guns leftover to suit them all. Trent immediately grabbed a flamethrower and some spare fuel for it. While they were gearing up, Tori found a doorway at the back and began fiddling with it. By the time they were finished, she had the door open. She called to them, excitement clear in her voice.

"This is where they stored our armor!" Tucked away in a smaller, offshoot room was all their armor, clearly laid out for examination. Trent hoped they hadn't managed to get too much information off of his suit, as it was likely the most advanced. They spent a few minutes getting back into their gear. Trent's visor was still cracked and while some of his suit's functions had come back online, not all of them were.

He _did _feel better though. Suited up and with a flamethrower, Trent led what was left of Delta Squad and Cann back into the facility. It wasn't far from the infirmary. Despite the armory, Trent could feel his skin crawling in anticipation. Any one of them, eve himself, could be infected. Did an infected person _know_ they were infected? Bursting out looked especially painful. He wondered if maybe he might not make it out of this one.

They found the infirmary bloodied and burning. Tori put the fire out while Thorne went about hunting for Blue Nine and hypos. The others secured the area and made sure it remained secure. Trent still ached for a cigarette.

"I wonder how the base descended into chaos this fast," Duvall said.

"Chances are it was a timed thing. I bet this place houses a lot of specimens and some of the men had probably found a way to escape detection. They probably let the specimens loose and...hey, what's this?" They glanced over as he approached a desk with a computer built into it and a box of what appeared to be medical scanners laid atop it. The screen was on with text on it.

Throne read the whatever was on the screen, then called the others over. Trent glanced over the information and felt a spark of hope. The Blue Nine test had always left him feel uncertain, but apparently Black Ops had been determined to find a more certain test, a test that couldn't be fooled or faked out.

And they had found it. The scanners had been rigged up to examine for discrepancies in the body at a cellular level, and they'd find it. Trent grabbed one of the scanners.

"Time for the truth," he said. "Who wants go first?"

"I'll go," Thorne replied. Trent nodded, pointed the scanner at him and activated it. A few seconds passed in uncomfortable silence as the scanner did its thing. It spent another few seconds analyzing the data, then, finally, mercifully, the indicator turned green. Thorne wasn't infected. The medic turned and grabbed another scanner.

"Your turn," he said. Trent nodded and everyone backed up a little bit more. Trent waited silently, anticipation and tension building in his body, tempering muscles and causing a twitch to develop in his right eye. Finally, after what felt like eternity, the scanner beeped. Thorne relaxed and grinned.

"You're clean. Who's next?" He and Trent turned to face the others. After a moment of indecision, Duvall stepped up. Throne raised the scanner and began running it. It had nearly finished when, abruptly, Steven shot forward, pushing past everyone and began smashing the remaining scanners on the table.

"Torch him!" Thorne screamed. Trent couldn't get a shot, as Thorne was in the way. He began backing up, but Steven had already completed his task, smashing the devices to bits and then punching a hole in the computer screen. Right as Trent lined up a shot, Steven turned towards Duvall and Tori. A tentacle burst through his chestplate and smashed directly into Tori's faceplate. She didn't even have time to scream as Trent lit Steven up.

Trent whirled and set Tori ablaze, too, knowing that not only was there no chance she was still alive, but even if she was, she was infected now. Those left alive gave the burning corpses a wide berth and finished scanning. Duvall and Cann were both clean and, just be sure, Thorne and Trent scanned each other. Both were clean.

"Well, shit, now all we have are these two," Thorne said.

"Spread out, look around for more," Trent replied. They wasted ten more minutes hunting through the infirmary, but found it empty.

"Now what?" Duvall asked forlornly.

"Now we hit up Command Control," Trent replied.


	16. Desolation

_**Chapter 16  
**-Desolation-_

The base was an absolute mess. Trent wasn't sure what kind of game Black Ops had been running here, but it was obvious that it had all fallen apart in a hell of a hurry. The corridors were dented, flickering and bloodied. Burnt corpses and twisted caricatures of what had once been human beings littered the ground. The sounds of conflict, the screaming and gunfire and roaring, had subsided by now.

It was obvious who was winning. Trent wanted out of the base, but he needed information. He felt better now that he had Cann with him, and Thorne and Duvall were good back up. Though Duvall was a lot quieter than he had been before. There was a certain grimness to him that hadn't been there before, an almost pessimistic hopelessness. They came to a junction and broke left, delving deeper into the security area.

"Duvall, you alright?" Trent asked as they came to a stairwell and began to ascend.

"Not really, no. Everyone on my squad...they were all my friends. I fought long and hard to get them assigned to my squad. Built the whole thing from the ground up once I got enough pull. Had to call in a lot of favors. I knew them all personally...and now they're all dead," Duvall explained bleakly. He was crestfallen.

"Jesus...I'm sorry," Trent replied, feeling lame. He never really knew what to say in situations like this. Duvall just shrugged.

"It doesn't really matter now. Dead's dead, and we've got a job to do. I'll...do what I have to to deal with it after we get off this moon. _If _we get off this moon." Trent and the others were silent, uncertain of how to reply.

They crested the top of the stairwell and Trent peered cautiously into the corridor beyond. A hulking horror of twisted, blackened flesh and too many limbs pounded around, looking for...well, Trent wasn't sure _what_ they looked for once they had burst out. He stepped out, leveled the muzzle of the flamethrower at the thing and fired. A stream of pure flame shot out and wreathed the creature. It went up like a torch. The beast began shrieking and managed to make it almost within grabbing distance of Trent before it finally collapsed.

"Let's go," he said, stepping out and carefully around the monstrosity. The double doors to the command center were dead ahead. Trent readied his flamethrower, preparing for the worst. He could easily envision Steel and a squad of deadly soldiers preparing for a vicious last stand just behind those doors. But when he opened them, he found nothing but blood and static-stricken screens. The command center might once have been impressive, but now it was abandoned and lonely. The group spread out and secured the area.

Once they were finished, Trent settled into one of the chairs and began trying to get into the database. He wished Eric were here with him. While Trent did have some technical knowledge, seemingly nobody rivaled Eric. While the others continued securing the area and poking into whatever systems they could find, Trent tried to get some sense of the database. He was quickly realizing that it must be standard procedure to wipe the database when everything went to hell...which it apparently did fairly often for Black Ops.

The database was a mess, but there were pockets of information leftover. He downloaded everything he could into his own internal database for Eric and Childs to ponder over later, then focused on the thing that interested him the most: Operation Deep Freeze. From what he could glean, Black Ops had picked up some transmissions about a curious find deep below the surface of the moon. Something of unknown origin. Not Forerunner. Obviously, they'd been interested. They'd come and then everything had gotten a bit out of control.

Trent worked out a map of the area he had been brought to and realized that they weren't very far from the initial mining site that had dug up whatever it was. Less than a mile, actually. He dug up a map of the facility they were in and surprised by how damned big the place was. He traced a route to the surface and to the motorpool, since there was no tunnel to the site yet. Though from what he could tell, they had been in the process of digging it.

"Alright, we're heading over to the main dig site where they found...whatever kicked this whole mess off. We're going to kill Steel, try to find more information over there and put an end to this operation. Speaking of which..." Trent turned back to the console and navigated the controls and commands for several more moments. Finally, he had what he was looking for, grinned and worked hastily but carefully. He stood.

"I've now tied the base's reactor into my suit. On my command it will overload. We'll hit it once we're out of here," Trent said.

"What about others? If we were locked up, surely there might be others," Duvall said. But Cann was shaking his head.

"No. I was looking through the security files. The only people left alive in here are us and Black Ops. And they're largely retreating to the main dig site," he explained. They headed out of the command center, making their back down the central corridor to another stairwell at the end. Trent opened the door and peered in. It looked empty. He began leading the others up. He pondered the route as they ascended, floor by far.

Once they reached the top, the primary floor of the Black Ops base consisted mainly of storage facilities. From what he had gathered, they brought all manner of people and specimens, some of the specimens flash-frozen, and kept them in huge warehouse-like rooms until they needed them for whatever godforsaken research was going on below. They passed several levels, one for dormitories, two for research, another for security, and finally arrived at the surface. Trent opened the door and stepped out into a short corridor.

They hurried down it. The sound of conflict was obvious now. The fighting was still going on, heavily. Black Ops were beating a hasty retreat and the creatures were making them pay for every inch, eager for fresh blood. Trent opened the door at the end of the corridor and found himself staring into a vast warehouse, the first of three they would have to pass through to make it to the motorpool and, with some luck, find a vehicle.

The place was a mess. A huge crane had toppled over, spilling its contents of flash-frozen specimens, now scattered across the floor like so many demented ice cubes. A dozen Black Ops personnel, cast in black metal armor and toting mostly flamethrowers, were having a losing battle with nearly twice their number in escaped monsters.

Trent and the others let them go at it, slowly making their way along the wall, squeezing in between it and the piles of crates and frozen specimens. The air was freezing and Trent wished for his thermal units back. They had come partially back online, but not anywhere near enough to compensate for the sub-zero temperatures.

They made it to a side exit, listening to the screams of the dying and howls of those damned by the infection. The group slipped through, eager to be out. The next warehouse wasn't much better. More chaos and more fighting. Bullets and explosions and plumes of flame. Unfortunately this time, the Black Ops soldiers were just finishing off the creatures and, upon killing the last one, took immediate notice of Trent and his group.

Trent, Cann, Thorne and Duvall were suddenly pinned down by a full fledged firefight. They hid behind large crates, piled atop each other almost haphazardly. Trent spied a battle rifle nearby and grabbed it, since his flamethrower wasn't worth much against the soldiers. The battle played out, consisting mostly of hiding behind cover, popping up and firing when you thought that the other guy was exposed.

Trent had gotten particularly good at this kind of warfare and had shattered the visor of one of the troopers within fifteen seconds. The man didn't even scream as he flopped backwards and blood spurted from his ruined faceplate. Trent found himself wondering what drove these men to follow...whoever was in charge of Black Ops. It seemed almost counter-intuitive to everything that had happened so far.

The War was over, and it had cost them almost everything. Consolidation was needed, not more conflict. Unless someone in Black Ops thought they could make some kind of grab for power, what with Humanity in their weakened state. It made him think of the Elites, as well. With Enzo's ominous warning of some of the Elites wanting to break off and reform the Covenant...it was madness. Why would anyone want that?

Trent and the others kept up their fire. Before long, the final faceless soldier was felled and the warehouse was silent. The group stood and hurriedly policed up whatever weapons and ammunition they could from the corpses, then made for the final warehouse. Trent was relieved to find it devoid of life. The battle here had come and gone already. They moved through the final warehouse, gathering up whatever they could to enhance their arsenals, and made for the motorpool. Trent felt relief flow through him as he spied a Carrier Hog.

The motorpool was mostly an empty, expansively space with tables littered with tools and spare parts along the edges. Trent hopped into the driver's seat and fired up the Hog. He checked the power levels and found them more than adequate. Cann took up residence in the passenger's seat and Thorne and Duvall hopped in the back. Once he was sure everything was ready to go, Trent initiated the overload protocol on the reactor.

They drove out of the motorpool and into the swirling gray and white snow. All around them the dead wastelands of Plex spread away into eternity. They had driven for nearly a minute before a tremendous explosion ruptured the earth. Behind them, a titanic plume of red flame shot into the air and the shockwave caused the Hog to bounce several times as it drove along. Trent felt a certain satisfaction as he stared at the structure of the mining facility dead ahead.


	17. Humanity

_**Chapter 17  
**-Humanity-_

Trent was focused. He was sharp. The cold was helping him zero his mental sights on what needed to be done. He was in pain, and starving, and thirsty as hell. And, perhaps most important, for the first time in a while, he was genuinely afraid. It felt strange, this real fear, because he was so used to the background paranoia you cultivated when you were a soldier. But all that didn't matter now. He was ready to murder.

The other three were silent around him as the winds shrieked by. He could see the mining facility clearly now. It appeared to be a large collection of dark metal structures set against a mountain range and build partially into it. There weren't many lights on, and as a result he could see a lot of gunfire and flamethrower bursts beyond the broad windows and around the base itself. He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter.

The adrenaline was serving him for now, and Trent prayed that it would sustain him for as long as this mission went on. But he knew that the mission needed to end, and soon. Up ahead, he spied a pair of soldiers in black armor putting down a large, bulky creature. He grinned grimly and gunned it, pushing the pedal all the way down. The men just barely realized what was happening when the Carrier Hog hit them and sent them flying.

"Ha ha!" Cann cried. "Roadkill!"

"There's a way to save some ammo!" Throne said, no doubt wearing a wicked grin beneath his polarized faceplate.

Trent ran down another three soldiers and a Thing beast before hitting the brakes outside the main entrance to the facility. The quartet dismounted and issued out death warrants to any soldiers in the area. As the last corpse was felled, Trent stalked up to the main doorway and hit the button. The doors slid open, revealing a bloodied interior. The lobby beyond was a chaotic mess and a fire was burning fiercely somewhere.

They came in, spreading out and securing the area.

"Watch my back," Trent said as he found a bloodied console behind a desk. He shoved the corpse that sat in a chair in front of it out of the way and set his flamethrower on the counter next to the terminal. He accessed it, running as quickly as he could through the local database. He called up a map of the base and the mining tunnels beneath it. Through carelessness or luck, when Black Ops had taken over, they hadn't deleted the fact that the cavern holding the spacecraft that had been discovered was in the map.

Trent memorized the map to the cargo lift, which would take them to the mining tunnels. From there, it was a straight shot to the cavern itself. Trent had dealt with a lot of situations like this, and had built up an intuition for these kinds of things. Somehow, he just _knew_ Steel was heading for the cavern holding the spacecraft.

Trent called over the others and had them memorize the map, then they plunged into the chaos of the mining facility. As soon as they left the lobby, the sounds of conflict echoed down the lonely corridors to them: blood-curdling shrieks of agony and death, gunfire and explosions and the distinctive sound of a flamethrower being activated. And, playing across it all like white noise from hell, the eternal shrieking of the winds.

For the first part of the journey, they didn't see anyone. The battle in this part of the base had died down and there was nothing left but corpses left to chill on floors slick with red and black blood where the walls were tattooed with bullet holes and scorch marks. Trent found himself retreating into his own mind, but Cann interrupted that.

"So what's up, man? Why'd you come for me? Don't get me wrong, I appreciate it, but I was here on my own. Childs made that known. Did he get nervous?" he asked.

"No. Something's up. Black Ops is getting more powerful and we're finally getting a few leads on them. ONI got nervous and played their hand. They want the Survivors reassigned for the sole purpose of taking down the Black Ops," Trent replied, at this point beyond caring what Throne or Duvall heard.

"Really? Huh. I didn't notice Enzo or any of the others with you...which reminds me, how's Eric? Last I heard, he was still down for the count."

"He's back up. I managed to bring him out of his coma. Enzo and Kiza are back with us. One of the conditions of getting down here was going alone. I could've pulled strings but..." Trent shrugged. "I needed some time to clear my head." Cann scoffed.

"Hell of a time to do it, Temple."

"Yeah, you're telling me."

"So where have you been? You dropped off the radar for a while there." They came to a closed door and found it barricaded. The quartet began to make their way around it, passing through a desolate, ruined messhall to do so.

"Joined up with the Yellowjackets for a while. Took on the Flood for about three months. It got...intense," Trent replied.

"You know, those Yellowjacket Squads are supposed to be full of crazy people. Statistically, there must've been _some_ women in the Squads...and you know what they say about the crazy bitches, right? They're great in bed. So any woman crazy enough to sign up with the Squads..."

"I found ten of them. And I slept with a Spartan-II. And an Elite. Kiza," Trent replied. Cann stared at him.

"You slept with an _Elite_?" Duvall asked, incredulous.

"Uh-huh."

"How...how was it?"

"You want the dirty truth?"

"Yyyyyyyes," Duvall replied uncertainty.

"Better than Human girls. They can do things...down there...that our girls can't do," Trent said.

"I know the first thing I'm doing when I get off this planet," Throne said.

"Wait...Kiza? Huh, funny. I always thought she and Enzo had a thing going," Cann said.

"Oh, they do. They're together. I...it's complicated," Trent replied. Cann laughed, raised his rifle almost with breaking stride and casually shot out the faceplate of a Black Ops soldier who was springing from his hiding spot at that exact moment. And just like that they were knee-deep in the shit once again.

Trent slipped into a side alcove, narrowly avoiding a spray of bullets. He grabbed one of the frag grenades he'd managed to snag somewhere along the way, primed it and tossed it down the corridor. Cann, Duvall and Thorne shot whoever they could as the soldiers scattered to get out of the way. The resulting explosion took out nearly a quarter of the survivors. Seconds ticked by, elongated into bloated fragments of time as the firefight bled on. Trent emptied his rifle, reloaded and emptied it again by the time the last soldier fell.

They cleared the area, then kept going. Trent was eager to get down to the basement and put a bullet in Steel's head. He had already forgone the idea of extracting information on Black Ops from the guy. There was just no way he'd let himself be captured, or, even if he did, he'd probably feed them false information. No, they'd just have to see what they could get from the computers. For now, Trent's objective was to shut down Operation Deep Freeze.

They managed to reach the entrance to the cargo lift and only had to put down a scattering of surviving Black Ops personnel and a trio of mutated monsters. And then they learned that it was locked down.

"So what are you saying?" Thorne asked, thoroughly irritated. Trent didn't blame him.

"I'm saying that this has been locked down...and the only way to unlock it short of blasting through it, which I'm not sure is even an option, is to go and find the four manual overrides and initiate them simultaneously. There's no other ways down there as far as the map is concerned," Trent replied, glancing up from the console he was hunched over.

"Pure, blind luck four of us survived," Duvall said.

"Yeah. Luck," Trent replied. "Anyway, here, come here. Check this out. Everyone pick a manual override and memorize the route. We split up, we coordinate via comms, we unlock this door and then we meet back here, do some scans and head down. Easy."

"Yeah, easy," Cann replied, rolling his eyes. Trent suppressed a sigh, knowing that he was right. Nothing was ever easy. They each chose a destination and memorized the route there. Trent chose one near fuel storage that wasn't too far away, wished the others luck and then disappeared down a lengthy corridor wreathed in blood and bullet holes. He found himself thinking about Kiza as he walked, flamethrower in hand.

He wondered if Enzo would let him do it to Kiza again, but thought that maybe it might be easier to just find another female Elite. Trent cleared his head as he reached the end of the corridor and opened the door he found there. Beyond was a huge, warehouse-sized room. It was so big, in fact, that it housed smaller metal structures, each one stamped with words. Two were fuel storage, all the rest were spare parts for lots of things, mostly mining equipment. The structures were to his right, to his left was a door along the far wall, a small security center, where his override was located. He began to head for it when something happened.

At first, when he felt the steady, rhythmic trembling coming up through the floor, he thought it might be distant explosions. But they were too regular, and they were getting more powerful. When he heard a deep, distorted growl, he looked over in pure, raw terror as he spied an enormous creature coming out from between a pair of the buildings.

It was _huge_, as big as the nightmarish thing he and Blake had faced on the _Erebus_, and they had barely killed that. How was he going to murder this monstrosity? It stood twelve feet tall, bulky with raw and sometimes exposed muscles, its flesh the color of sickness with ripples of darkness set into it. It walked on three legs and reached for him with two, too-long arms. It shrieked when it spied him and began running for him.

"Aw, hell," Trent grumbled. He began running, already tossing together a plan in his head. Fuel storage, he could use that. He checked his cache of equipment stashed across his suit of armor and came up with a single fragmentation grenade as he ran around the creature, narrowly dodging one of its long arms.

'Fuel' was really an anachronism, a holdover from much older days when they still used liquid fuels. What it really held were containers of siphoned off power cells that could be transported with relative ease. They were useful...and notoriously unstable. It wouldn't take all that much to set off the whole load. But no doubt the building itself would be reinforced. So he had to get the large, garage-style door open and let the thing in.

Trent continued dodging and tried not to think about how stupid this was as he bolted for the entryway to the fuel storage compound. He hit the door, got it open and slipped inside, barely avoiding getting murdered. He closed the door behind him and looked around. It was practically packed with storage containers.

It would be perfect. Immediately, the huge beast began banging on the exterior. Trent worked the controls, opening up the larger door. The creature slipped in as soon as it was able. Trent closed the door behind it while simultaneously opening his own door. He primed and tossed the grenade as he bolted out the door.

There was a tremendous roar of defeat, followed by a deafening explosion that picked Trent up and threw him across the room. He slammed into the wall above the entrance to the security and hit the ground, groaning. He barely heard the others over the radio, trying to figure out what happened. Trent focused on getting his breath back. He managed to stare up at the fuel storage compound, which had only just contained the tremendous explosion.

Grinning, he slowly got to his feet and explained what had happened. He slipped into the security center and found the manual override.

"Everyone ready?" he asked. They all reported in. They were ready. He did the countdown and hit the override. A few seconds later, it turned green, indicating it had worked. "Thank God...let's regroup," Trent said.

He made his way slowly back down the lengthy corridor and spied the others up ahead. They were all there, and they all looked intact. He met them in front of the now open cargo lift and they ran the scans. They were all clean. The quartet, tried and hurting but not done yet, loaded up onto the lift and hit the down button.

* * *

The mining tunnels were dark. They were cold and made of ice and rock. They were in the worst condition by far. Most of the lights were out and Trent was very lucky to learn that at least one of this light-amp visions in his helmet worked. He flicked it on as he stepped off the lift and looked around the broad cavern they'd come to.

The outer walls of the cavern seemed to be taken up by smaller tunnels that were nearly as black as pitch, leading off deeper into the earth. Clusters of huge pieces of machinery and mining equipment sat dead and inert in the darkness, grouped together almost as though for comfort. There were pieces of people and huge pools of blood spread out across the vast ground. Up ahead, like a black hole, was the tunnel that led to the cavern.

"Come on," Trent said quietly. Speaking quietly seemed appropriately. Things lurked in the darkness, of this he was certain, but they either didn't notice the quartet or were biding their time. The men set off. There was very little in the way of light. Only a handful of work-lights, spread out across the area, worked, and even then they were operating at a very low and dim capacity. Trent felt apprehension become fear again.

He kept himself under control as he led them down the massive tunnel. They walked for a very long time through the darkness. Trent kept expecting some kind of resistance, but there was nothing. They reached the end of the tunnel without running into anything. He hit the access button he found next to a door embedded in the rock. The door opened to admit them to a broad, tall observation deck. The walls were made of a gridwork of glass and steel.

Ringing the walls was all manner of monitoring equipment, terminals and consoles. They were all abandoned, all dark. Standing in the center of the deck, like a captain going down with the ship, was Steel. He was facing away from them, his hands clasped behind his back. Ahead of him, Trent could see into a massive cavern, which was lit very well. The ship sat there at an awkward angle, a huge, circular disc of dark metal.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Steel replied.

Trent responded by pulling out his pistol, aiming and squeezing the trigger. Steel immediately flopped forward as part of his head disappeared in a nasty plume of gore. Trent walked forward and torched his body, just in case. There was no reaction.

"Well...that was easy," Cann said.

"Yeah..." Trent muttered. "It was an anti-climax. It was almost disappointing."

"No. Not almost, definitely disappointing," Cann replied.

"Whatever, I'm just glad it's over," Duvall said. "Can we go home now?"

"Yeah, sure. All we've got to do now is-" Something titanic reared up into view of the observation deck, in the cavern beyond, and issued an apocalyptic roar. Trent hardly had time to react before it moved forward and smashed itself into the observation deck. The deck began to crumble immediately, sliding down the wall it was mounted on. Trent and the others screamed as the room came apart around them and they fell down into the cavern.

Trent lost track of the others, but for a second caught a glimpse of Duvall, who had somehow gotten ahead of the rest of them. He saw him land on the hard cavern floor some feet below, right on his head, and he knew immediately that the man was dead. Trent managed crash land to the floor and only get the breath knocked out of him. He realized, right then, that his armor really was something else.

He rose shakily to his feet as debris crashed around him and some of the smaller bits bouncing off his black armor. He stared up at the titan before him. It was easily double, (triple even?), the size of the monster he'd just killed before, and there was no handy fuel storage around this time. He'd lost his weapons, but somehow that didn't seem to matter anymore. The thing was still roaring and thrashing around. It was _huge_.

Trent realized that it was attached to the ground, somehow fused to the icy rock. The base of it was a tremendous mound of flesh, it narrowed off to something like a waist, then broadened again. Four behemoth arms sprouted from what looked vaguely like a torso, only at the center of this torso, in the chest, was a face.

The thing roared again and began to come for Trent, lowering towards him, reaching with its horribly long arms. He ran. He sprinted and bolted, scrambling over tumbling pieces of debris. He somehow found Cann in all the chaos and wordlessly they ran. One of the arms slammed into the ground behind them, causing them to stumble.

"How are we going to kill this?!" Cann cried.

"There!" Thorne shouted. Trent looked around for him. He was ahead of them and to the left, farther away from the creature. He was pointing up. At the creature? No, higher. Trent looked up and caught a glint in the ceiling, high above. Was that...

"Flamethrower jets! Big ones!" Throne screamed. "We need to find the controls and activate them!"

They nearly ran into Thorne, paused for a second and then they were running again.

"Split up! Find it! Don't die!" Trent screamed. They nodded and did as such.

The next several minutes were nothing but pure, unmitigated chaos. Trent ran, jumped and dove, dodging the huge arms that seemed to be able to move with a terrifying dexterity despite their great size. What felt like forever passed and he was just beginning to lose hope when he spied something not far away, attached to the wall.

A terminal.

He bolted for it, barely avoiding another tentacle. It smashed into the ground behind him. He screamed something breathlessly and ran full tilt for the terminal. He reached it and looked over it frantically, knowing he had precious little time. Luckily, it was simple. He hit the activation for the flamethrower controls and immediately an orange light pierced the cavern, followed immediately by another apocalyptic roar.

Trent turned and watched the monster burn. It thrashed violently and whipped at everything with its huge, tentacled arms. But eventually it fell backwards, crashing into the huge spacecraft behind it. Trent spied Thorne and Cann across the cavern, walking towards him. They met up and before they did anything else, ran some scans.

They were all clean.

"Well...now what?" Thorne asked as they stared up at the huge, burning corpse.

"Now...we get up and out of here, find a radio and do a whole lot of explaining. And then, after that, I'm going to take a long bath, eat a huge, hot meal, get drunk and have sex with the first willing girl I can find," Trent replied.

"Sounds like a plan," Cann said, laughing and slapping him on his armored back.

They turned and began walking.


	18. In Transit

_**Chapter 18  
**-In Transit-_

Trent came awake in the darkness with a start. For a split second, he wasn't sure where he was. Then the darkness was pierced by dim light and he rolled over, screwing up his eyes against it. He realized he was in his cabin, aboard the _Deathstalker_. Jennifer was stepping out of the bathroom. She had her cargo pants and bra on. She was rubbing at her short brunette hair with a towel. She glanced at Trent.

"Sorry, didn't mean to wake you," she murmured, turning off the light. He was blinded again as his eyes readjusted to the darkness. He could hear her discard the towel and cross the room. She sat down on the bed, fumbled with something in the darkness, then, a second light, this one flickering and yellow, pierced the darkness.

"I like your lighter," Jennifer said. Trent was still recovering, collecting his thoughts. She lit a cigarette, then laid back on the bed beside him. A cascade of images, sensations and emotions came at him. For a long moment, he just laid there and thought. He remembered calling in help from the blockade, explaining the whole situation to Mathias in orbit. It had taken quite a while, almost a whole day, before they finally got picked up.

The trio had been totally isolated while they once again explained the nature of the infection. They handed over the scanners and they spent nearly another whole day in isolation while Mathias worked with Childs' people and his own people to discern the nature of the scanning technology, confirm that it worked, then replicate it. Finally, after a long, long time, rescue operations began on the moon and Trent, Cann and Thorne were released.

Trent had pulled some strings and gotten Childs to accept him as an additional medic onboard the _Deathstalker_ after getting his background checked out and it cleared. After getting Thorne squared away, Trent had had Leland cook him up a huge meal. He'd eaten it with Cann and the others, the two Survivors telling everyone about their insane adventure down on the frozen moon. After that, he'd gone and soaked in a bath for a long, long time.

When that was done, well...

Trent glanced over at Jennifer, her beautiful face lit by the glow of the cigarette.

"You still awake?" she asked, glancing at him. He chuckled.

"Yeah. Gimme one," he said. Jennifer seemed to consider it for a moment, then handed the once she was smoking over to him. He took it and took a pull on it, tasting her lips again vicariously. She lit up a fresh one.

"You said you had weed around here," she said.

"Yeah, I do. Lemme finish this cig, first."

"Yeheyuans," Jennifer replied. "Never heard of the brand." They were quiet for a long moment, then, finally, Trent sat up and put his back against the headboard.

"So...where's Nadia?" he asked.

"She was gone by the time I woke up." She chuckled. "I still can't believe I managed to talk Nadia into a threesome."

"She did seem a little...reserved," Trent replied after a moment's consideration. Jennifer snorted and took another pull on her cig.

"She is. I like sex. Nadia...she likes it, sure, but she's more...well, yeah, reserved, about who she does it with. I guess you made an impression on her."

"She sure made an impression on me." Jennifer nudged him.

"Hope I did, too," she said.

"Oh, yeah. Yes. Definitely," he replied. But he was thinking of Kiza. It had been very good with Jennifer and Nadia, but it had been better with Kiza. He missed her a little and decided to quash that. It'd do no good to fall for his best friend's girlfriend just because of a little sex. He reached over, his arm brushing against Jennifer's chest, and he stubbed out the cig. Then he stood and turned on the lights. Trent dug out the large bag of pre-rolled blunts and passed one to Jennifer. She took it, stubbed out her cig and lit up.

"You gonna be good to fly?" he asked. Jennifer rolled her eyes.

"Of course."

"How much time has it been?"

"You were out almost twelve hours." Trent sighed and padded across his bedroom, still naked, into the bathroom. He started up a shower and started really waking up. After he'd finished with the girls and he was sure they were passed out, he'd shot up with some morphine. It had been good, almost as good as the sex, and had knocked him right out.

After a few minutes, Jennifer decided one shower wasn't enough and joined him.

* * *

For their next mission, Trent decided they were going to go for two of them. He stood on the bridge, showered, shaved and in a fresh uniform, with Jennifer, Nadia and Cann with him. The women were at their stations, Cann stood beside him and stared out the window. Trent studied a datapad. It seemed that Melissa and Nauls were on a mission together, investigating some ruins that weren't Forerunner.

"Alright...what can you tell me about a planet called Darkholm?" he asked. Nadia's fingers flew across her board and a moment later, a very bleak, rainy, rocky landscape was called up on her screen. Trent studied it.

"It's a mining planet. Mostly rocky with one big ocean that covers about half the planet. It rains, a lot. No natural life, no plants or animals. There's a scattering of outposts and mining colonies. About a month ago, a mining team uncovered something."

"Deja vu," Cann muttered.

"Some kind of...temple. It was old, very old, but not Pre-Forerunner. Maybe twenty thousand years," Nadia explained. Trent nodded and stepped back.

"Alright, punch a course in. How long before we get there?" he asked.

"About a day," Jennifer replied. Trent thanked them, then stepped off the bridge with Cann. He continued to study the information. It seemed Nauls had been sent to try and decipher the language discovered in the temple, and Melissa had been sent to protect him and head up security. Trent didn't like the idea of seeing Melissa again, but he knew he couldn't keep putting it off. Better to get it done and over with now.

"That was kinda weird in there," Cann said. They stopped in the mouth of the corridor that led into the rec room. Trent could hear some of the others.

"Oh yeah?" he asked.

"Yeah. Nadia kept looking at you. Just kind of some...well, maybe tension isn't the right word, but...something."

"I guess so," Trent said with a shrug. He stepped into the rec room. Cann hesitated for a moment, lingering in the corridor. Then he came after Trent abruptly.

"Wait, Trent. You-with Nadia?" he asked. Eric, Enzo, Leland and Thorne all sat around the table in the rec room, each holding cards.

"You have mated with our navigator?" Enzo asked, glancing up from his hand.

"No way, really?" Eric asked.

"Everyone shut up about it. True or not, it'd make her really uncomfortable if you were all talking about it. Understand?" There were a string of dissatisfied replies. "You guys playing poker?" Trent asked after a moment.

"We're _trying_ to," Thorne complained. "Swear to God, you Elites are hell on the battlefield. But at poker? Frickin' forget about it!"

"I admit, I am having...difficult learning this game," Enzo said.

"You shall get it, at some point," Leland replied.

"You aren't so hot yourself, chef," Eric said. Leland looked across the table at him.

"Continue your insults, human, and I shall put something truly terrible in your next meal." Eric looked speechless. Trent snorted and headed out of the room, leaving them to it. Cann opted to follow as he made his way through the ship.

"So how was she?" he asked. "Cause I got a thing for redheads..."

"Yeah, me too," Trent replied.

"Hey, I'm sure I can find someone else if she's yours. Jennifer looked like she'd be wild in bed."

"Well, about Jennifer..." Trent hesitated awkwardly near the medical bay. Cann put a restrictive hand on his shoulder, forcing him to stop. He spun him around and put a finger in his face.

"You are _not_ going to stand there and tell me you had a threesome with those two," he said.

"Okay, I won't," Trent said, shrugging off his hand and entering the medical bay.

"Son of a _bitch_!" Cann shouted behind him. Ash and Anderson glanced over. They were seated opposite each other at a table across the medical bay. A chessboard sat in between them. It looked like they were well into the game.

"Hey guys, how's everything going?" Trent asked.

"Good. It's been peaceful. I like it," Anderson replied.

"Yeah. That Thorne guy you added to the roster is really cool. He's had a lot of interesting stories to tell," Ash said. He suddenly leaned forward and moved one of the pieces, taking one of Anderson's. The older medic stared at the board for a long time before cursing sharply. Ash chuckled amiably.

"Well, I'll leave you guys to it, then. We're on our way to the next objective," Trent said.

"Think you'll need us for anything?" Ash asked.

"No, probably not."

"Fine by me."

Trent left the infirmary, Cann still in tow. Next he came to the armory. He looked at the glass case containing his suit. He'd had Childs repair it and give Cann an upgrade, too. Unfortunately, the shield generator had been damaged beyond repair and there hadn't been another handy. So Trent would have to go without shield for another mission at least. He supposed it wasn't so bad, he'd gone without his entire life and he'd managed to survive.

"I call the next one," Cann said, finally, having followed him into the armory. Trent shrugged as he began looking through the weapons locker, considering what to bring on the next mission. What could possible be awaiting him.

"Well, considering the next one is Melissa, sure, go ahead. I'm done with her anyway. Or, I guess you could say she's done with me."

"Oh, come_ on_!"


	19. Dismal

_**Chapter 19  
**-Dismal-_

Trent stood on the bridge, staring at the abysmal little planet before him. They had settled into orbit nicely and he'd gotten his suit on. He held his helmet under one arm, frowning. Cann and Eric stood beside him.

"Any communications?" he asked.

"No, still nothing," Nadia replied. Trent sighed quietly.

"What about the LifeScan?" he asked. Jennifer had been leaning forward, staring at her controls. Finally, she sat back up.

"There's a scattering of mining settlements spread out across the planet, but around the main site? There's a couple of dozen life signs scattered around the dig site. And...about two dozen life signs that don't conform to anything on file." Trent sighed.

"Fantastic. Another mystery. I don't think I'll ever be able to escape mysteries...God I don't want to do this," he muttered.

"Melissa really got you that down?" Eric asked. Jennifer twisted around in her seat.

"Who's Melissa?" she asked.

"My...sorta ex," Trent replied carefully.

"What happened?"

"Long story. I'll tell you when we get back. Alright, come on, you two. We've got a planet to crash into." He turned, ready to leave, but Jennifer suddenly called out his name. He turned around. "Yeah?"

"Come here," she said, spinning her chair around. He walked over, wondering what she wanted. When he was within arm's reach, she reached up, grabbed him by the ring of armor around his neck and yanked him down. She pressed her lips against his, her tongue probing fiercely, then she suddenly let him go.

"That was for luck, and to help you forget about your crappy ex," she said.

"Oh...thanks," Trent said, certain that he was blushing and hating it, but also being very happy at the same time.

"Hey, I've got some exes I need to forget..." Cann said.

"I'm sure Eric can help you with that," Jennifer said with a smirk, turning her chair back around. Cann sighed heavily.

"Oh, I dunno, Cann. You aren't all _that_ ugly," Eric said. Trent began laughing.

"Everyone's against me!" Cann cried, turning and stomping out of the bridge.

"Come on," Eric said. "Let's go get into character."

* * *

Trent watched the atmosphere burn around him as his pod descended towards the grim, rocky, rain-slicked surface of the planet. He checked in with the others. Enzo, Cann, Eric and Kiza all reported positive. They were going to hit dirt about a quarter mile from the main excavation site. Walking distance. Hopefully.

Things were going well, Trent alone with his thoughts, interrupted only by the occasional chatter between the pods. Then something new buzzed by them. It popped up on the pod's limited radar, an unfamiliar signature. It was just a blip though, and then it was gone. Trent was just beginning to realize that it was heading for the main site when Eric came onto the line.

_"My pod's been knocked off course by whatever the hell that was! I can't correct!"_

"Ah, hell. Enzo, Kiza, Cann, proceed with the mission. I'll grab Eric and we'll rendezvous. Keep in contact." There were a trio of replies, then,

_"Don't bother yourself, Temple. I can still make it on my own."_

"We don't know who or what that was, and how many more there might be. And I'd rather you not be alone. So zip it, Staccato."

_"Very well, then."_

* * *

Trent's pod smashed into the rocky earth and the door popped without a problem. He grabbed his shotgun and battle rifle from their holding places, made sure the pistol, grenades and spare magazines were all snug in their various compartments across his suit and then set out into the pouring rain.

The environment around him was incredibly bleak, lit only by a very dim moonlight. He activated one of the filters and looked around. There was nothing around him for a long, long ways but rocks and very distant mountains. He'd managed to guide his pod somewhat towards Eric's, which had been knocked about two miles off course. Trent followed the nav marker he set up. He was about fifty meters from Eric's pod.

He thought about Melissa as he marched across the bleak plains. What was he going to say to her, if anything? He wondered why it was bothering him so much. After a moment, it occurred to him that maybe he'd gotten too used to solving his problems with relative ease. With his high clearance and scientifically-proven luck, he tended to be able to deal with most of his problems without too much trouble.

But it was different with Melissa. This was a problem he couldn't outrank, shoot or run away from. He was going to _have_ to work with Melissa. And while some small part of him hoped to win her back, he didn't really think it was going to happen. While Trent had found it fairly easy to have pointless flings with a lot of the women he came across, he couldn't really imagine having anything serious with any of them. Not that it'd be fair to either of them in most of their cases, but Melissa was something different. She was another Survivor, and she'd be living in close proximity to him for a while. It seemed like they'd be perfect for each other...

Only she had the problem of commitment. She didn't want to be tied down. Trent sighed. Up ahead, he could see Eric standing by his pod.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, fine. Just fine. We need to make tracks. I don't want Cann to get all the fun of killing...whatever it is we're going up against." They started walking.

"What makes you think we're going to be fighting anything? I mean, sure, there's unidentified lifeforms and there was that ship, but nothing actually threatening has-"

"Give me a break, Trent. Whenever we're involved, there's a _lot _of fighting. And it's usually heavy."

"Yeah, I guess you're right." They walked on for a few more minutes in silence.

"Hey...why'd you bring your shotgun?" Eric asked. Trent grinned.

"I like to keep it for close encounters."

* * *

They kept in radio contact with the others while they hurried through the rain. Trent kept an eye on his motion tracker for anything but him and Eric, but so far there was nothing. Enzo, Kiza and Cann had to wait for ten minutes at the perimeter of the camp before Trent and Eric showed back up. They had take up residence atop a supply shed.

"So, what's up?" Trent asked. The mining installation was spread out before them. A cluster of two and three story buildings were centered around a much larger building, more than likely the central drill and coring facility. Clusters of supply sheds dotted the outer perimeter. Trent spied some kind of activity deeper in, though he couldn't quite tell what it was. They could hear gunfire, but not much. Lights, some of them flickering, lit sporadically in the darkness.

"We managed to get a tentative communication with what appears to be a Marine. We managed to get his location, then we lost contact. He appears to be holed up in a storage and maintenance building on the far east side of the compound," Enzo replied.

Trent considered it for a moment. He'd managed to get hold of a map of the compound and knew that Command Control was on the far west side.

"Alright. Enzo, Kiza, Cann, you three go and investigate the Marine. Eric, you're with me. Everyone...stay sharp."


	20. Insidious

_**Chapter 20  
**-Insidious-_

The rain was constantly and Trent was glad for the extra visions his helmet had to cut through it. They were walking through the dark, derelict mining camp. The sounds of conflict had mostly stopped by now, and that didn't bode well. Trent wanted to hope that his side had won, but there was too much doubt for that. Eric walked quietly by his side, his gun and eyes continually tracking the darkness. Trent did the same.

Huge industrial building surrounded them, creating all manner of natural alleyways and alcoves. They were all ominous and anything could be lurking in the deeper shadows that weren't as easily penetrated by light-amped vision. Trent tried to puzzle out what might be waiting for them in the darkest reaches of the mining camp. What could it be? He prayed that it was less complicated than the infectious thing he'd run into last time.

A scream rose out of the darkness, high and wailing. It was abruptly cut off.

"God, how much further?" Eric asked. Trent checked the nav marker he'd set.

"About twenty meters. Just around those warehouses," he said, pointing to the two huge, looming structures ahead of them. They cross a large, open lot lit only by a handful of dim, flickering arc-lights, set up high overhead. Trent scanned the area for anything out of the ordinary. He spied a pair of corpses, off to the right and moved to investigate them. If they could see how these people were killed, maybe they could get some kind of idea of what they were facing. Eric took watch while Trent knelt and examined the bodies.

They were a pair of orange-suited technicians. Or they had been, once. Now they were terrible ravaged, hardly recognizable as men. Trent realized that it was claws, vicious, powerful, rending claws, that must have done all this damage.

"So, what's up?" Eric asked.

"Not entirely sure..." Trent replied, standing, running through his mental catalog of things that might be able to do this. Eventually, he gave up, realizing that it could be a lot of things...or it could be something completely new. They kept going, plunging into the gloomy darkness between the two huge, rain-slicked titanium warehouses. They had nearly made it through to the other side, tension mounting due to the enclosed space, when Trent noticed something.

"Hold up," he said, crouching once more. Eric took up watch again.

"What?" he asked. Trent had nearly missed it. It was on the ground. An uneven, jagged hole, burned straight through the metal walkway between the pair of warehouses.

"Something...burned straight through this metal," he said, rubbing it gently with his gloved hand. It looked like an ugly wound, almost like a decay, uneven and awkward.

"Chemical spill?"

"What the hell kind of chemicals do you accidentally spill that can do this to titanium?" Eric shrugged.

"Can we go now? This place is kind of freaking me out." Trent stood and they stepped out of the alleyway, coming at last to the dark, domed structure of Command Control. Only a few of the windows were lit, not a good sign. As they crossed the open lot to the main entrance, Trent was suddenly aware that someone was watching them. Or maybe something. He tried to scan the rainy gloom as casually as he could, checking out windows, doorways and rooftops. But he saw nothing. Who or whatever they were, they were good.

Judging by Eric's movements, he realized his fellow Survivor had picked up on it as well. They mounted the steps that led into Command Control and passed in through the front doors. They had been bashed in and deep grooves were cut into the metal with what looked like claws. This didn't bode well. Trent led the way down a curved, flickering, blood-stained corridor. They kept a sharp eye on their motion tracks, but there was nothing.

They checked out a few rooms on the way to the Control Center. Nothing but abandoned offices that for the most part showed no signs of attack. It seemed that a lot of people had just up and left. They scoped out a bathroom, a pair of break rooms and more offices. Empty. Even when there were signs of struggle there were no corpses. Just blood. A lot of it. Trent began to feel nervous. The feeling of being watched hadn't abated.

Finally, they arrived at the center of Command Control. It was a rounded room, the edges of which were occupied by all manner of terminals, operations desks and equipment. Security, communications and command were all routed through this room. Trent provided guard duty while Eric began rooting through the information. He radioed Enzo.

"Anything happening on your end, Enzo?"

_"I'm afraid not. Though it does appear that we are being shadowed. No visuals, just feelings."_

"Same here. You find any signs of acidic corrosion anywhere?"

_"Yes. We have. Lots of it. Do you know what it means?"_

"No. Not yet. We're at Command Control and Eric's plugging away through the database. We'll call you back when we finish up."

_"Affirmative."_ Trent cut the link and began making a slow circuit around the room, gazing into static-stricken or broken screens for anything useful. He eventually came to a bank of security monitors. Most of them were dead but a few showed bleak, rainy exterior views. Trent stared at them for a long time but saw nothing moving. He sighed quietly and kept going, hoping to come across something useful.

Then he did. He heard something drop from the ceiling behind him and land with a hard sound. He spun, weapon raised, and then hesitated. Something, what might've been a light-skinned, very large spider with a tail, was scurrying rapidly towards him across the ground. He had just enough time to get a single shot off, missing, before it launched itself through the air and wrapped all of its legs around his helmet. Its tail went around his armored neck.

He was aware of Eric saying things as he dropped his gun and his hands went to his helmet. There was pressure on his neck, a great deal of it. Trent watched in horror as a mouth of some kind sucked at his faceplate, probing, searching. He gripped the two topmost legs, calmed himself and began to pull. It took a while, the legs were incredibly powerful, but with Eric's help, they finally managed to snap a few of them.

The creature relinquished, but only for a moment. It flopped onto its back on the ground and began to wriggle and writhe, trying to get back up. The men took a few steps back and Eric pumped a few rounds into it. A loud squeal sounded, followed almost instantly by an intense hissing. Trent realized that it was bleeding acid.

It was bleeding. _Acid_.

"You have _got_ to be shitting me," he whispered.

"Damn. That's one tough son of a bitch. Even after you kill it..." he trailed off, staring at what Trent was thinking of as some kind of mutant spider. After a moment, he realized it was more like a crab than anything else.

"Jesus...what _is_ it?" Trent whispered. He shook himself and checked the room and the vent ducts for more of them, but he could see nothing. "How much longer?" he asked Eric.

"I'm almost done," he replied, getting back to it. Trent called to inform Enzo of the situation, but was interrupted mid-sentence.

_"We're under attack,"_ he said. _"Big. Black. Tails. Claws."_ Bullets punctuated each word. The nothing. Trent called to Enzo and the others several times, and finally decided they were too busy to respond. He wouldn't believe they were dead. Eric finished up with the database and they left Command Control.

They rushed across the rainy base, keeping their eyes sharp for anything. Trent felt that there might be things in the darker shadows, but if there were, they were keeping to themselves. It took him and Eric five minutes to get to the other's position. It felt like five years. They could hear the gunfire as they approached.

When Trent rounded a corner with Eric on his heels, he spied Enzo, Kiza and Cann standing in the center of an open lot, firing into what might as well have been the jaws of Hell itself. There were half a dozen of the things. Enzo had been right. They were big and black with tails and claws. They had to be eight feet tall, vaguely humanoid, and their skin was shiny, slick from the rain. It looked like black glass or metal. Their tails were long and barbed, and whipped around violently. But it was their heads that held his attention.

They had huge, long heads, almost banana-shaped. From what he could see in all the frenzied chaos as he opened fire, they had no eyes. Just mouths, stuffed with metal teeth. As he mowed them down, they loosed trumpeting shrieks that split the air. There was a haze in the area that Trent quickly realized was from the ground, burning. Their blood was acidic as well. Trent put his shotgun to good use, blasting limbs and their oddly-shape heads off.

When it was all said and done, and the last one fell, the only sound was that of sizzling and rainfall. It sounded like a giant griddle with titanic pieces of bacon on it.

"What the hell are these things?" Trent asked, staring at the obsidian corpses amidst the sea of acid. Cann shrugged.

"No idea, man. They just came out of nowhere. There must've been a couple a dozen of these things!" Trent looked at the building on the other side of the pile of corpses.

"Is that where the survivor is?" he asked. Cann nodded. Trent sighed.

"Great."

* * *

It took an extra fifteen minutes, but they finally managed to find their way around all the acidic blood they'd spilled and into the building. They found the survivor, a Marine in battered and bloodied armor, hiding in a back storage room. He began trying to explain the situation to the best of his ability. It seemed that the mining team dug into a huge network of tunnels and a massive cavern that, when explored, contained a giant stone temple.

It wasn't Forerunner, and it wasn't Covenant, so that meant that no one knew what it was. The mining facility was upgraded, mining itself was halted and more personnel were called in to investigate the temple. When they realized it was covered in an unknown writing, Nauls ended up getting called in. And Jennifer tagged along. He'd seen them when he was pulling guard duty down near the temple. Then, a few hours ago, they lost contact with the Temple. Then they lost contact with the original mining complex above the temple.

Then the creatures came boiling out of the ground, the little crab ones and the bigger ones, killing everything in sight. He'd fought as hard as he could, then taken refuge here when his entire squad was killed.

"Before comms was cut, last I heard, Staff Sergeant Stern was still in charge, down in the mines. He was preparing to mount an expedition to figure out what the hell was going on down there. He might still be there," the man, who introduced himself as Lance Corporal Hughes, said.

"Alright. Hughes, you're with us. Take us to the quickest way down there."

"That'd be in the topside mining entrance, across the camp, to the north."

"Let's go."

* * *

The tension came back, worse than before, as they scurried across the facility. There were no more creatures. Hughes called them Xenos.

"Where'd that name come from?" Eric asked. Hughes shrugged.

"Dunno. Heard it spreading across the airwaves like wildfire before comms died. Seems to fit." Trent grunted in quick reply. He saw the main mining facility up ahead, a dark mountain of rain-slicked metal against the darkness.

"Why hasn't anyone evaced?" Cann asked.

"There was a call for it, I think, but everyone's too disorganized I guess," Hughes replied.

They made their way through the topside mining entrance. It was little more than a gigantic storage facility for raw materials and bulky equipment and spare parts. They found a lift that would take them to the mines.

Right before they got in, Trent felt as though he were being watched again. But the Xenos had no eyes. Could they even invoke that feeling? Surely they saw somehow...how could something with no eyes watch you?

He thought of the mysterious ships, coming in, and knew that this whole thing would get more complicated before the end.


	21. Below

_**Chapter 21  
**-Below-_

The ride on the lift seemed to last forever.

"So who are you guys? ONI?" Hughes asked. He'd been quite but Trent had noticed him eying the group. From a stranger's perspective, he realized that they must look like a pretty weird group. He in his ODST armor, a pair of Elites, and two other guys in unclassified armor. Who just happened to show up in the midst of a crisis.

"Yeah, we're ONI," Trent replied. It was technically true. Hughes seemed dissatisfied, but left it alone. The lift kept going, bringing them deeper and deeper into the cold, rocky earth. Trent wondered how many more of the Xenos would be down there. If they had no eyes, then they obviously saw by some other method. Heat-sense, maybe? If that was true then they were truly screwed when it came to sneaking around.

The lift finally came to a halt. Trent and Enzo stepped out first, clearing the immediate area. They had come to a service lobby that had been hit hard. A fire had burned at some point, leaving scorch marks up the far left wall. Trent scanned the lobby and realized that this was quickly becoming standard fare for him: blood, bodies, flickering lights...only no, wait. Something was wrong. He realized what it was.

There were no bodies.

Trent began to head for the only door out when, abruptly, a huge dent appear in it. He froze up, then snarled for everyone to get to cover. He knelt down with Enzo and Eric behind the primary desk as a second and third dent appeared. They kept coming, the door becoming more and more destroyed until, finally, it practically exploded open.

The Xenos poured in, like an obsidian tide or an alien virus. Trent began blasting away at them with his shotgun, spraying acidic blood everywhere. He was quickly beginning to realize why everyone might already be dead. He did hold out some hope for Jennifer and Nauls, though. He emptied the shotgun and brought the battle rifle into play, pouring as many bullets into the wave of Xenos that seemed almost never-ending.

"Grenades, on my mark!" he called, when he depleted his battle rifle. Everyone responded affirmative. "Mark!"

Six grenades were thrown into the doorway and everyone ducked. A tremendous series of explosions rocked the lobby and a cacophony of trumpeting shrieks all sounded at once, then all was still and silent save for the burning. Trent double-checked for a way out, but reconfirmed that there was only one. He looked at Hughes.

"Any idea how long this shit takes to go away?" he asked. Hughes just shrugged. Trent sighed again and got as close as he could to pool of acid. He studied it for a long moment, then glanced back at the desk he'd hid behind. It was essentially a large block of wood and metal.

"Enzo, Cann, help me with this," he said, going over to the desk. In the end, it took all of them, even with a pair of Elites and Trent's suit-enhanced strength, to rip the desk up out of the floor. They carried it over to the puddle and put it on.

"Cross now. O idea how long this thing will last," Trent said, hopping onto it and crossing carefully into the corridor beyond. He hopped off and secured the area while the others crossed over. They came to a large antechamber with branching corridors. One lead to the Command Wing, the other to Miner Living Quarters and the final one lead to the Mines and, presumably, the Temple. Trent led them towards the Command Wing.

It seemed that the whole area had undergone some serious reconstruction and then been abandoned in the midst of it. There were carved out tunnels that were obviously going to be rooms and corridors, and the ground they walked on was only half-tiled. They made their way down the central tunnel, peering into shattered windows built directly into the cave walls, which were still being converted into metal and plaster.

They found the Command Center near the back, where a scout in the second story window nearly shot them.

"Who goes there?!" he managed.

"Trent Temple, ONI Specialist!...and friends!" Trent called back.

"ONI...what the hell are you doing here?! Wait...Hughes?! Is that you!?"

"Yeah! I made it! What's going on!?" Trent sighed and felt a headache beginning to form. The man in the window began to shout something, then hesitated. He looked back into the room he was in for a little while, then returned his attention to them.

"Someone's coming out to meet you!" he called. The front door opened. A tall, broad-shouldered man in standard issued Ballistics armor strode out. He carried a shotgun and had a look of grim determination tattooed to his face.

"Staff Sergeant Stern," he said. "I understand you're all from ONI?" he asked, eying Enzo and Kiza uncertaintly.

"That's right. We're here looking for two more Specialists...but it looks like we found a hell of a lot more. I've picked up some information from Lance Corporal Hughes here, mind filling in some blanks?" Trent replied.

"Not at all. But come inside. It's not safe out here."

'Inside' turned out to be a cluttered mess of chaos. A couple of dozen soldiers, technicians and miners had made the place home. Several of the techs were seated at consoles. The Marines were inventorying supplies. Stern couldn't tell them much more than Hughes had, except that something had happened to the communications booster.

"I've got a team of my best escorting a tech over there right now and they've reported well so far, so we should have it taken care of soon. As soon as it is, I'm putting together an evacuation _immediately_," Stern finished up.

"A good idea. And we'll help you as soon as we find our friends. Specialists Nauls and Carter," Trent replied.

"Yes. I saw a lot of them over the past week. They spent most of their time down in the Temple. Nauls is a...cryptologist? Right?"

"Something like that. Carter was here for security."

"You guys know something we don't?" Stern asked, all of a sudden on the defensive. Trent held up his hands.

"No. Not at all. Believe me, do you think we'd led _civilians_ hang around here if we had literally any inclination that something like this would happen?" he asked. Stern seemed to consider it, then his shoulder sagged and his face softened.

"No, I guess not." He sighed. "Sorry, it's been a hell of a long day."

"Yeah, I bet...alright, I guess get in touch with me when you get the comms up and running. We're going to make for the Temple."

"Affirmative."

They left Command, and Hughes, behind. The way back to the main tunnel was clear, for the moment. Trent tried to think of it as a blessing but could only feel more ominous tension rising. The others were silent around him as they walked down the main tunnel, towards the Mines and the Temple. Trent wondered about what he'd find there. He also wondered about Melissa. How awkward was it going to be? He decided he was going to do whatever he could to not make it weird. Maybe they really could just be friends...

Trent had seen a lot guys try to be friends with their exes. It never worked. It just seemed that once you had been with a woman in that way, it was all or nothing. Trent thought that he might have a chance at playing the friend game with Melissa mainly because it seemed like Jennifer wanted to, at the very least, be sex buddies. And getting regular sex tended to make Trent a lot more at ease. Yeah, he could probably be her friend.

They came to a huge cargo lift at the end of the primary tunnel. After clearing it, they got onboard and Trent hit the down button. The lift kicked to life with a loud grinding sound and they began to descend into the earth. Trent found his thoughts returning to Melissa. He found himself missing her body and the sex. He thought of Jennifer. That's when something heavy landed on top of the lift.

"What the hell was that?" Eric growled. Everyone raised their weapons. They heard heavy footfalls banging against the metal.

"Thing it's one of them?" Cann asked.

"I've no doubt-_shit_!" Trent felt his stomach flop as, abruptly, the elevator was cut free. They were in free fall. He had just enough time to wonder about what he was going to do when it smashed into the ground, full force.

They were all thrown to the ground. Trent hit his head a few times, but didn't get knocked out. He counted his blessings and pulled himself up off the ground. Incredibly, he heard more footfalls atop the lift. Whatever it was, it _jumped_ off the front of the lift, into whatever was beyond. The doors were buckled and opened slightly. Trent peered through them as the others hauled themselves up and caught a hint of movement.

"Come on, let's get out there and kill this Xeno," he said, shoving his way, shotgun-first, through the narrow gap in the doors. The area ahead of him was a large, open cavern filled with all manner of mining equipment. It was still well-lit, at least. Trent grunted his way through the gap and popped out the other side, weapon at ready. He prepared himself for an immediate assault, but there was nothing.

No Xenos advancing on him. But he wasn't alone, he could feel that much. He hunted the shadowy niches amidst the equipment and as the others began coming out after him, caught some kind of movement off his peripheral. He stared hard, focusing, and realized what he was seeing. It was the same kind of heat wave kind of look that Elites had when they wore invisible camo. What the hell did _that_ mean?

"Who goes there!?" he called, pointing his barrel at it. There was a soft clicking sound.

"What is that?" Cann whispered.

"I'm not sure, but I see it, too," Eric murmured. Enzo and Kiza backed them up, weapons at ready. Trent was about to call out again when a light flared on what he would have guessed to be the thing's shoulder. A trio of red beams shot out, focusing on Trent. He glanced down, seeing them play on his armored chest.

At the last second, he shouted a warning and dove aside. A brilliant light filled the cavern as some kind of phosphorescent projectile launched towards them, smashing against the far wall into a brilliant explosion.

"Open fire!" Trent screamed as he recovered. The next several moments were filled with gunfire as the five Survivors poured projectiles into the thing's position. At some point, Trent thought he heard a scream of fury and pain. When everyone ran out of ammo and began reloading, he hunted once more for the heat-wave effect. He could see nothing, nothing but...

"What's this?" Eric murmured, walking forward. Trent glanced around. Down a huge tunnel ahead of them, he spied the entrance to the Temple. He glanced at the others, who were gathered around what appeared to be a pool of neon.

"Whatever the hell that was, we hit it. It's bleeding," Cann said, studying the green-glowing liquid. Trent nodded.

"If it bleeds, we can kill it."


	22. Ancient Temple Lab

_**Chapter 22  
**-Ancient Temple Lab-_

The Temple was enormous. It also looked incredibly out of place in the titanic, underground cavern that housed it. It was made largely out of stone, what appeared to be smooth limestone, though Trent knew next to nothing about geology. It could've been anything. High-intensity work-lights were attached to the cavern walls and ceilings, all pointed towards the Temple, almost as though putting it on a giant stage under the proverbial spotlight.

Trent opened up his comms, hoping that the little booster each suit came equipped with would be enough to reach Melissa.

"This is Trent Temple to anyone that can hear me," he began. The response was almost immediate.

_"Trent! Oh, thank God!"_ Melissa cried. There were trumpeting shrieks and gunfire in the background. _"Nauls and I are holed up in the center of the Temple. We're under attack. We need help,"_ she explained.

"Alright. We're on our way. What's the fastest route there?" he asked.

_"You have to...oh shit!"_ The comms cut out. Trent tried to get her back, but there was nothing. He headed for the main entrance of the Temple, which was little more than an enormous hole in the front with pillars on either side.

"Why the hell is there a big stone temple underground on a relatively unknown world?" Eric asked as they came into an enormous antechamber. There were thick black cables strung along the stonework ground. They snaked up the walls and fed into cameras and lights. A few terminals were set up against one of the walls.

"Literally no idea. I've gotten to the point where I don't really ask these questions anymore, Eric. Now, can you pull us a map of the area out of one of those?" Trent replied, pointing to the trio of terminals. Eric grumbled something in reply and marched over. As he booted one of them up, a sharp crackled filled the air, followed immediately by a popping sound and a bright flash. Eric let out a surprised sound.

"What happened?" Cann asked.

"It...the terminal shorted out," he replied. "Man, how long has it been since something like that happened, huh?" he asked, more to himself than anyone else, as he made for the other one. He tried out, made an unhappy noise and tried the final one. He sighed.

"What?" Trent asked.

"That overload blew out all three of them."

"So that means no map?"

"Yep."

"Wonderful."

* * *

The Temple was huge, full of all manner of rooms, alcove, corridors and tunnels. They were attacked by Xenos almost a minute in. Trent and Enzo led the way. They turned a corner and spied a pair of Xenos dragging corpses off somewhere. That gave Trent a moment of pause. What the _hell_ did they want with the bodies? Eric didn't pause. He shouldered his battle rifle and fired, splitting one of their heads open with a three round burst.

The other instantly dropped the body, which had been ruined by a spray of acidic blood, trumpeted and came for them. Trent put it down with a blast from his shotgun. Hardly after the other three joined them in the corridor, more Xenos were coming. And their little friends, what Trent had begun to think of as Facehuggers. They were all scrabbling down the corridor towards them, appearing from strange holes and niches in the walls and ceiling. It seemed to Trent that this Temple was almost _designed_ for the Xenos to move around in.

Had they built it?

It seemed impossible. He opened fire. They all did. When they mopped up the last of the Xenos, the team moved into a side passageway, looking for a way around. Trent knew he generally had a good sense of direction, and hoped that Melissa had been literal about her location. If she was in the center of the Temple, he could find her. Eventually. Trent hesitated as he heard combat, though it wasn't regular. All he could hear were Xenos, shrieking.

He and the others hurried down the passageway and eventually came to stand in an open doorway. The view was a strange one. Three Xenos surrounded something entirely new. Trent had a sudden feeling that this is what had been cloaked and attacking them. It looked a lot like a man, although its skin was an odd greenish color. It stood eight feel tall, rippled with raw muscle and was wrapped in a curious combination of what looked like body armor and black netting. He swiped at one of the Xenos with wrist-mounted blades and decapitated it, neatly stepping back to avoid the inevitable spray of acidic blood.

Trent noticed with a strange interest that it had _dreadlocks_. Which gave it an almost comedic appearance. That, however, was immediately quashed when it fired a blast from its shoulder-mounted cannon and blew apart one of the Xenos while decapitating the final one. As it turned to face them, Trent raised his weapon, realizing it was bleeding from a gutshot. He knew it had to be the one that had tried to kill him earlier.

The creature stared at him from behind a metal mask with glowing eyes. Abruptly, it became invisible. Trent saw the outline crouch and the leap straight up into a hole in the ceiling. Just like that, it was gone.

"Holy shit," Eric whispered.

"Come on...we need to keep moving," Trent said after a moment.

They made their way through acid-etched stonework corridors and finally heard the sound of conflict somewhere ahead. By the time they located Melissa and Nauls, the pair had mostly dealt with their Xenomorph problem. Trent and the others found the only way in that wasn't drenched in acid and found the pair of them reloading amidst a great deal of wipe-clean laboratory equipment, monitors and terminals.

"Took you long enough," Melissa said. Trent rolled his eyes, though it was lost behind his opaque helmet.

"Yeah, yeah. Can we get the hell out of here now?" Cann asked.

"No," Melissa said, almost immediately. "There still might be people down here. We came here to see if the LifeScan was still working. We need to evacuate this entire area, but the comms are pretty much dead."

"Staff Sergeant Stern is trying to rectify that problem as we speak," Trent replied. "Eric, go with Melissa to the LifeScan. See if you can get it working. Nauls, what have you learned about this place?" Melissa sighed.

"Still used to being in charge?" she asked as Eric crossed the room.

"Yes," Trent replied, a little more coldly than he meant to. She looked at him for a moment, like she wanted to say something else, then turned and left with Eric. Nauls finished reloading.

"This is what I've been able to figure out," he said. "This temple was built by a race I've only been able to label as Predator. It's the closest word we have for what they call themselves. They built it to house the Xenos. They've apparently been using _us_, Humans, that is, to breed the Xenos. This has been going on for a long, long time," he said.

"Breed...for _what_?" Trent replied.

"This is a hunting ground. They hunt the Xenos for sport. It's like...religion is the closest word I have for it. They live for the Hunt entirely."

"I've seen them," Trent said. "They must've been on those ships coming in...I guess they must've set off some kind of tampering-alarm when they cut into the Temple. Damn..." He noticed Melissa and Eric coming back.

"Okay, it looks like the majority of the personnel still left alive are up in the Mines. There are two groups of people down here, around ten in each group, and they're both holed up in different parts of the Temple. I say we split up and go get them, then lead them the hell out of here, finish up the evac and let the Predators and the Xenos battle it out," Melissa said.

"Good idea. Eric, Cann, go with Melissa and Nauls. Enzo, Kiza, you're both with me." They checked the map, got the layout of the Temple and split up. Trent felt weird as he silently led them through the bright lit corridors of stone and blood. The anger he'd felt at Melissa had come suddenly and violently. He hadn't expected it at all. That wasn't good. Trent raised his shotgun and blew apart a stray Headcrab.

As they drew closer to the other survivors, Trent heard a burst of static in his headset.

_"This is Staff Sergeant Stern to ONI Specialists."_

"This is Temple. Reading you loud and clear. What's the situation up there?" Trent replied.

_"Comms are back up. The Xenos are hitting my HQ but we're holding our own. I've sent out four teams to begin search and rescue."_

"Good. Make sure you get everyone up to the surface as quickly as possible. Do you have LifeScan?"

_"Affirmative."_

"Excellent. This whole thing just got a lot more dangerous." He updated Stern on the Predator situation.

_"Wonderful...alright, thanks for that. We'll make for the surface as quickly as possible. Out."_

Trent rounded another corner and stepped on something sticky. He frowned and looked down the length of the corridor. It was much darker and seemed to be covered in some kind of sticky, dark substance. A growth of some kind. As they pressed on the air became heavy and almost misty. Trent flicked on his internal air system. He upped the light-amp as much as it would go, studying the odd growth as he walked through it.

It reminded him vague of the Flood growth that occurred when an infestation got too bad, though it seemed...darker, somehow. More insidious. They reached the end of the corridor they were in and found themselves in a pitch-black, small room. Everything felt cramped and confined. Trent looked around in confusion.

"I don't get it...this is where the LifeScan said there were," he murmured. And then he saw. With a growing horror, he realized that the ten survivors were pinned to the wall, covered in the black growth. He swallowed.

"Knives out. Cut them down," he said, approaching the nearest one. The man was unconscious, his face pale and harrowed. As he began to cut at the black growth, the body convulsed once. Trent hesitated. Was he waking up? The body convulsed a second time, then a third. That's when he noticed it: the chest.

It was expanding.

"What the..." He screamed as the man's chest cavity exploded in a spray of gore. Something was wriggling around in it. Something with metal teeth that vaguely resembled a huge worm. It flopped out onto the floor. Trent shot it out of instinct and a spray of acid blood began etching holes into the floor.

"Do they all have them inside?" Enzo asked solemnly, having watched the entire display. Trent stared at the ruined corpse attached to the wall. He a grim certainty take him.

"They must," he said. Even as he spoke, another body began to shake and shudder and convulse. He raised his shotgun and blew the chest apart. A loud squealing filled the air for a brief second.

"Kill them all," he said. "Chests and headshots." Feeling several degrees below absolute zero, Trent pulled out his pistol and began to do the dirty deed. With Enzo and Kiza's help, they managed to eliminate the survivors in record time. They were turning to go when something let out a wicked hiss behind them. Trent spun. A Xeno, but much bigger, this one having to duck to stand in the tunnel, awaited them.

Its tail swished violently, angrily, and spittle dripped from its mouth. Trent stared in horror as he realized it had what appeared to be a smaller, secondary jaw set into its mouth. Trent raised his shotgun. The new Xeno leapt. It vaulted through the air and landed on him. He could feel the immense pressure of its clawed hands gripping his armored shoulders, even through the reinforced armor. It was far too heavy for him to hold up, so Trent was forced back onto his back. He heard the Elites shouting but he had his own problems.

Trent stared up into an utterly alien face, devoid of all life or meaning, devoid of empathy or reason. There was nothing there but cold, blind murder. The mouth opened. The secondary jaw shot out like a piston, smacking up against his faceplate, cracking it. Trent knew that he couldn't survive another one of those.

He tapped the strength-enhancer and his suit went into overdrive. He threw the monster off of him and Enzo and Kiza blew it to pieces as soon as it was clear of him. Trent hauled himself to his feet and took a few breaths.

"Man, that was close," he murmured.

"Too close," Enzo agreed. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine..." Trent opened up his radio. "Melissa...the bodies..."

_"I know. We had to kill the survivors." _She sounded grim.

"Us, too. Did you have to fight a bigass Xeno?"

_"Yes."_

"Same here. Alright, let's regroup and get the hell out of here."

Trent made for the exit.


	23. Evacuation Procedures

_**Chapter 23  
**-Evacuation Procedures-_

They made their way out the Temple and back through the underground tunnel. Trent could hear a lot of fighting around them. It sounded very ugly. He wondered about the Predators, about the Xenos. How much history and culture was buried here? Nauls said this had been going on for a long, long time. Centuries? Maybe longer, Trent suspected. It was too bad he didn't have more interest in this. A year ago, he might have. But now, he just wanted to get everyone the hell out of this nightmare nest and move on with the mission.

They managed to find a secondary lift, much smaller, and rode it up in silence. Trent brooded. After this, they just had Linda to get their hands on. He considered that, wondered if Jennifer might be down for a threesome with a freaking Spartan-II. It could be interesting. He was jarred from his thoughts as the lift came to a halt. He and Enzo went out first, coming into a room cramped with piles of crates.

They headed outside, into one of the main tunnels. He called up Stern.

"Alright, Staff Sergeant, we're up out of the lower mines. What's it look like up here?"

_"It's looking up, for now. We're spread pretty thin thought. I've got a three man team up top, securing the top-side dormitories, which is where I'm sending the survivors. I've got two guys guarding the elevator, ten guys holding down the fort here, and the rest my men are split up into four, three-man search parties, hunting out survivors and escorting them back to the lift."_

"How many individual groups of survivors are there?"

_"Four."_ Trent considered.

"Alright. Feed me their locations and directions, then pull all of your men out, back to topside. We'll finish getting them out."

_"You sure?"_

"Yeah." He fed them the information, sounding relieved. Trent had Melissa and Nauls head for the nearest group, sent Cann and Eric off towards another, Kiza and Enzo towards the third and took on the last one himself.

"You sure you'll be alright by yourself?" Enzo asked. Trent rolled his eyes.

"When have I not been?" he asked, then hesitated. "Alright, don't answer that. I'll be fine. Now go." Enzo nodded and left. Trent worked the way out to the last group. Stern had said it was a trio of technicians, holed up in one of the mineral storage rooms. The sounds of bloody chaos echoed off the cave walls all around him. Somewhere, he heard a tremendous roar that was also somehow a shout sound off.

It sounded like awful victory. He imagined one of the Predators making that sound. Trent took a quick turn off the main tunnel, moving into a smaller one. It was still tall enough to be double his height and broad enough to allow a bulldozer through. For a moment, Trent tried to envision life as a miner. Toiling away all day, either with a handheld device or working a big machine. He couldn't do, not really.

As stressful and dangerous as his job was, he couldn't imagine another one at this point. He couldn't imagine having a routine. Living in one place, working the same job for decades for a (hopefully) steadily increasing paycheck. Yearly raises, the occasional promotion. All of it like clockwork. A wife. Kids. He had to admit that there was a little appeal to it, if he was being completely honest.

Not having to worry about getting killed literally ever day? It might be nice. But then what if something like _this_ happened? Maybe that was the main reason he just couldn't do it. The idea that he couldn't protect himself was a genuinely terrifying one. He turned into a smaller tunnel and found a row of doors that all led to storage rooms. Eventually, he came to the right one and knocked on the door several times.

Eventually, tentatively, a reply came from within.

"My name's Trent Temple, here to rescue you. We're getting out of here," he called. There was another pause, them, finally, the door opened. He found himself staring down the barrels of three shotguns, which were immediatley lowered.

"Oh, thank God," one of the orange-suited techs whispered. "We've been here for _hours_."

"I know. Come on, I'm getting you out of here," Trent replied. They followed him back the way he had come, wary for Xenos or for Predators. There were battle sounds, but they were far off. He checked in with the others and found them all to be proceeding as planned. Trent carried on, staying sharp and focused. After about ten meters, he met up with Enzo and Kiza, who had a pair of Marines with them.

It wasn't long before everyone regrouped at one of the primary lifts. This lift area had a less finished look to it and half the walls were still rock. They caught up with Stern, who was holding the line against a Xeno attack, waiting for them. The Survivors helped mop up the resistance and loaded the others onto the lift.

"You guys'll have to wait down here," Stern said.

"Wait, why?" Trent asked. The elevator didn't seem all that full.

"It's not at maximum capacity...but we've been having strange problems with this elevator. I don't want to risk it. Just bad luck, I guess," he said with a shrug. Trent sighed and motioned for him to go. The doors closed, the elevator began to rise. Trent turned and looked around the room they were in, wondering awaited them. Enzo, Kiza, Eric, Cann, Melissa and Nauls all took up defensive positions around the exits, preparing for the worst.

It came. At first, it was only footfalls, heavy ones. Trent raised his weapon. He hesitated. A sullen green glow began to emerge from the tunnel ahead. It coalesced into a Predator, de-cloaked. Trent's finger began to tighten around the trigger, but something made him hesitate. The Predator came to stand in the middle of the tunnel, right at the entrance. It reached up, worked a few clasps on its shoulder and pulled off the weapon mounted there, then it threw it across the room. It landed at Trent's feet.

It felt like a gauntlet, thrown to the ground in challenge. Then it tore its wrist-mounted blades off and tossed them aside.

"What the hell is going on?" Eric murmured.

"It wants to fight you," Enzo said. Now, the Predator was reaching up, pulling loose tubes and wires from its mask. Several sharp hisses of escaping air could be heard. Trent wasn't sure if Enzo was right, but was intrigued nonetheless. The mask came off. Trent felt speechless. The comparison between the Predator's face and an Elite's face was undeniable. But what did that mean? Was it coincidence? Were they somehow related.

There was no time to talk because suddenly, the Predator was coming towards him with its hands outstretched, growling. Trent felt compelled to meet it. He tossed down his shotgun, shrugged out of his battle rifle shoulder strap.

"What are you doing? Just blast the thing's head off!" Cann cried.

"No," Enzo said. "They must fight. Hand to hand." Trent let his pistol and grenades drop, then raised his fists. He didn't take off his armor. He knew he wouldn't survive with out it. The Predator didn't seem to mind. They came within arm's length of each other and began to circle. Trent was reminded of Jason Voorhees. And interest question came to mind: who would win in a fight between Jason and a Predator?

When the Predator moved, it was fast. Much faster than Trent expected. It punched him directly in the chest, making a solid dent in his armor and knocking the wind out of him. Trent recovered and landed a blow on the Predator's jaw. He heard a satisfying crunch accompanied by a spray of neon blood as one of the mandibles broke. The Predator let out a pained grunt but nothing more. It hit him twice in the stomach, bringing him to his knees.

Trent coughed up some blood, then, from his kneeling position, dove at the Predator's midsection as it advanced again. It let out a surprised grunt as Trent tackled it to the ground. He managed to land two more solid punches directly to the thing's face before it threw him completely off of it. He landed with a grunt and rolled to narrowly avoid the Predator's huge foot. He kicked, swiping its legs out.

The battle went on. It was brutal and bloody. It seemed to take forever. By the time the elevator had returned, they were both breathing heavily and bleeding. Though Trent thought that the Predator was bleeding more. At some point during the battle, he had become aware of something: the Predator was old. He wasn't sure exactly how or why he knew. Maybe it was the thing's fighting style: it was obviously very skilled, and fought in a manner that spoke of decades of practice. But it was also getting sloppy.

Was it over the hill? Was it suicidal? Did it want to go down fighting?

Trent landed a very powerful blow directly to its neck and heard something snap. The Predator collapsed to the ground. Trent waited. It didn't get up. The others were still watching, silently but intently, proving that age-old trait that all Humans and even Elites seemed to share: we all want to see blood.

Trent let out a breath. It was over. Then the Predator shifted. It raised its arms up, clearly unable to move anything else, until one of its wrists hovered over its face.

"What's it doing?" Trent whispered.

"I don't know, but we need to go," Eric replied. "Come on, you kicked his ass." It began punching buttons on its wrist-pad. When it finished, it let its arms fall back to the ground. A slow beeping began to fill the air. It started to speed up.

"I don't like the sound of that," Cann murmured. The Predator began to let out a loud, haunting laughter that sounded disturbingly human.

"Go. Now," Trent said, turning. They hustled onto the elevator and hit the up button. The doors closed and the lift began to descend. Trent felt tension rising through his bruised, hurting body. He was bleeding internally, he knew that much, and looked forward to Thorne and the others putting him back together. And morphine. A lot of it.

The lift kept going. Not fast enough for Trent. He didn't know for sure what the Predator had done, but had a bad feeling about it. All at once, the lift came to a halt. The Survivors rushed out as soon as the doors opened. Trent opened up a general comms channel.

"Everyone evacuate the topside mining building right now!" he screamed. They moved through the building as quickly as they could, making for the exit. By the time they found it, Trent was getting really tense. He was the last one out and had made it about two steps when the entire building went up in flames, picking him and throwing him several meters. He landed on his bruised rips and a sharp bark of pain escaped his throat.

He coughed raggedly for several moments, spitting up blood against his visor. A moment later, Enzo was helping him to his feet.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine...fine...just wonderful. Where's Stern and the others?"

"They managed to regroup near the Hangar."

"Why aren't they evacuating?"

"I'm not sure."

Trent and Enzo found the other Survivors and headed towards the Hangar. They found Stern, his Marines and around forty survivors gathered in the rain, well away from the main Hangar. Trent frowned. Why weren't they evacing? He found Stern in the group, who was speaking with his men. Trent tapped him on the shoulder.

"Good. You people are here. There's something in the Hangar. Something huge. It killed three of my men so far and I pulled everyone back to a safe distance," he explained. "What the hell happened to the topside mining facility?" Trent gave him a quick rundown of the events, then frowned, considering the situation.

"So...any idea what's in there?" he asked. Stern shook his head.

"No." Trent sighed. He turned to look at the others.

"Alright. Enzo, Kiza, with me. Everyone else, around to the secondary entrance. We'll hit this thing from two sides and blow it straight to hell," he said. They all gave affirmative responses, then split up. Trent, after liberating a SAW and some ammo for it from one of the Marines, led Enzo and Kiza over to the main entrance, which was wide open. He put his back to the wall and peered cautiously within.

A living nightmare, wrapped in black metal, awaited him. It was enormous, easily twice the size of the giant Xeno he'd fought back at the room with the civvies he'd had to kill. It stalked around, its tail, a barbed, incredibly long length of stygian steel, whipped around violently. It had a crowned head, with ridges of more black, hard skin raising up from its skull. Was this a Xeno leader? If so, it was going down.

Trent gave the signal for attack. The Survivors sprung from their hiding places and opened fire with everything they had. The titanic Xeno began to shriek and spurt acidic blood in huge sprays. But that didn't even seem to phase it. It turned and rushed for Eric and the others. Trent hurled a grenade in its path. It went right in through the spray of molten slag. He reloaded the SAW and poured more fire into the huge thing.

Already, he could tell that this was going to take more than just small-arms fire. He looked around for inspiration as he reloaded again with his last clip. His eyes fell on a Pelican, and the chaingun that was mounted on its nose. He remembered the _Erebus_ and a moment of inspiration hit him.

"Cover me!" he called, then began sprinting across the bay. The others seemed too busy just dodging the huge thing's claws and tail. Trent hoped there were no more of the smaller ones hiding out, but didn't see any as he hit the Pelican's hull and began to climb. He got into the cockpit through the emergency airlock and warmed up the controls. When they were ready to go, he grinned and aimed the huge minigun towards the titanic Xeno.

"Everyone stand clear!" he called.

Once they were, he squeezed the triggers. He didn't so much shoot the huge Xeno as pick up and throw it through the secondary opening where Eric and the others had come through. He kept the barrage of gunfire on it until he was sure the thing was dead. When he let go of the triggers, Trent sat back in his chair and let out a long breath.

He sat there a while, figuring he'd earned it.


	24. Socially Awkward

_**Chapter 24  
**-Socially Awkward-_

"You. Are. Shitting. Me."

It had been a long day. There hadn't been enough ships to get everyone out of there, so Trent had stuck around to help Stern protect the survivors while a second wave of Pelicans came to help with the evacuation. He coordinated with the local ground forces and informed them of the situation, telling everyone to stay well back for the moment but to keep a close watch on the area to make sure nothing got out of hand.

After that, he'd finally managed to hitch a ride with the others back up to the _Deathstalker_. He was exhausted and badly wanted a shower and a big hit of morphine and maybe a few joints. He'd planned on making a report to Childs as soon as they got back, but Cann forced him to go straight to the infirmary where Thorne and the others ran a complete scan of him and then put him under for a bit of minor surgery to take care of his internal bleeding. Two of his ribs were stressed, but nothing could be done about that.

They'd finally let him go and Trent had gone back to his room to make the report about everything that had happened. He'd just shipped it off to Childs and then stood up, considering a shower but frustrated and horny enough that he wanted Jennifer. He felt like sleeping, but not my by himself. Seeing Melissa had kicked loose a few nasty emotions and memories. He'd been on his way to the bridge when he saw it.

Melissa and Nauls had been sharing a kiss in the rec room. Trent, who had spent enough time around people to pick up on things, immediately picked up on the fact that it was the kind of kiss a couple at least a month or so into the relationship shared.

Both of them stared at him, surprised.

"Trent..." Melissa began. Eric abruptly stepped into the room.

"Ah, Trent. There you are. Childs is on the line and-"

"Tell him it can wait!" Trent snapped without looking at Eric.

"Whoa. Okay. Bad time." He turned and left. Trent began to say something, when he noticed Nauls' face change from surprise to anger. Genuine anger. He took a few steps closer to Trent and pointed at him.

"Oh, no. I am _not_ playing this game again!" he yelled. Trent blinked in surprise, his confusion temporarily robbing him of his anger.

"What?" he managed.

"I've put up with this bullshit before. Are you really going to stand there and giving me shit for dating her because I'm _black_?" he asked. Trent had never been so lost for words. Nauls began to gear up again, so Trent found some.

"Nauls. I couldn't give less of a shit about the color of your skin if you _paid me_. I don't care that's he dating _you_, I care that she's dating _at all_!" Trent screamed, his voice growing louder as he went on. Nauls hesitated, then, after a moment, his shoulder sagged and he seemed to deflate. "In case you didn't notice, we kind of had a thing before," Trent said, a little easier. Nauls' face twisted up into confusion and he looked back at Melissa.

"You did?" he asked. "When?"

"When we all first met," Melissa said, uneasily.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I didn't expect him to show up out of the blue! I thought I'd have more time! It didn't seem like something I needed to say right off the bat," Melissa replied. Nauls turned back to Trent.

"So what's the problem?" he asked.

"We were together for a little while...and then she broke it off with me. She explicitly told me that she had a commitment problem, as in, she has a hard time committing to a relationship. With anyone. Which was why we broke up," Trent replied, feel his anger rising again, staring hard at Melissa, who wouldn't meet his eyes.

"That doesn't make any sense. We haven't had any problems. And we've been together for almost a month now," Nauls said, glancing back at Melissa. She sighed heavily.

"Trent's right. I told him that. _But_. But it got me thinking. That maybe I shouldn't have broken it off with him. Or, at the very least, I should have given more thought to a real relationship and not just a fling...but I didn't see you again. And you were so angry at me...then I started getting put on assignment with Nauls more often than not. And...we started dating. So I thought, 'Okay, this is it. I'm going to try the real relationship thing.' Can you understand that?" she asked, and Trent realized that that last question was directed at both of them.

"I guess so," Nauls replied.

"Whatever," Trent muttered. His head was beginning to ache. A tension headache, building at the base of his skull. If he didn't get relief soon, it'd be a complete nightmare. He turned to go but Nauls put a restrictive hand on his shoulder.

"Are we cool?" he asked. Trent hesitated, then shrugged.

"Yeah, sure. Why not?" he replied, just a little bitterly.

"And us?" Melissa asked.

"I don't know," Trent replied coldly before leaving the room. He stepped onto the bridge and spied Jennifer and Nadia at their posts.

"Here to talk to Childs?" Nadia asked.

"Yeah. Might as well. Patch him through," Trent replied. Nadia worked the controls.

"I see seeing your ex put you in a shit mood," Jennifer said, spinning around.

"When I'm doing with Childs...you. Me. Bedroom," Trent replied. Someone cleared their throat. Trent turned back to the screen he was facing and saw Childs staring at him, a little awkwardly. Trent sighed.

"You got my report?" he asked. Childs nodded.

_"Yes. It was rather informative. I've got teams on the way now to contain the situation. __Now, I know Linda is next on your list, but we've got a new situation." _Trent sighed. Childs pressed on. _"His name is Jared West. He's ex-UNSC and apparently he's had a run-in with Black Ops before. And he's gunning for them. I've had a chance to look at his career and, well, he might not be a Survivor, but he'd make a good addition to the team. Also, it seems that he's managed to do some detective work of his own and gotten his hands on a secret Black Ops base. He's getting ready to go to it. I want you to pick him up and help him make the assault."_

"Alright. Forward the data. We'll get him," Trent replied. Childs nodded, wished him good luck and cut the feed. Trent sighed and sagged against the wall, feeling the lethargy welling up within him. He felt hands on his shoulders suddenly and glance back. Melissa was behind him.

"Hey. You look like absolute shit. Come on, let's go to bed," she said with a smile.

"I would love that," Trent replied. She took his hand, laced their fingers together. Her grasp was smooth and warm.

"I bet you would. Bet I can make you love _me_ before long," she said.

"We'll see," was all Trent felt like saying. She led him back through the rec room, paused only briefly when she saw Jennifer, then, as they were leaving, she asked,

"So, you want to get Nadia for another threesome?" By that point, Trent was facing away from them and let himself smirk. He could see what she was doing.

"No, I think I'm too tired for another. Maybe later," he said, reaching down and grabbing her ass. They slipped into the dormitories corridor and found Trent's door.

"Thanks," he said as they entered his bedroom.

"No problem. Now, before we do anything, you need a shower. So do I," Jennifer replied. Trent happily obliged.

* * *

"So...now that that I'm complaining, but why are you being so nice to me?" Trent asked. They both laid naked beneath the sheets, passing a joint back and forth. The weed went a long way towards easing his pain.

"I dunno...maybe just cause I've got a crush on you," Jennifer replied, blowing a huge, formless cloud of smoke into the air. She sighed and settled closer against him. Her skin was warm and moist and smooth.

"Heh, some crush. Normally when people have crushes they pass notes and giggle at each other in passing," Trent replied.

"What is this, middle school? I dunno, I've never been a timid girl. If I like a guy, I go after him. And...well, I dunno, I've been burned a lot by guys. And I've had a lot of friends burned, guys and girls, so I know how crappy it feels to get dumped and have to be around your ex. And whatever, she's all 'Oh, I can't commit' and now she's with some other dude? Bitch." Trent sighed. Now that he was high and he'd made love twice, he was feeling a lot more rational.

"Don't be too hard on her, she's not that bad..." Trent realized Jennifer was giggling. "What?" he asked.

"You said 'hard on'," she replied. Trent burst out laughing. They kept passing the blunt back and forth until they killed it, then Jennifer rolled over and fell asleep. That was something that Trent found he liked about her. She seemed to just fall asleep right away when she wanted to. When he was sure she was out, he reached over, found the injection of morphine and gave it to himself. He managed to get it hidden again before he began slipping away.

* * *

The next day became more awkward. Trent woke up groggy and took a shower. Jennifer joined him and woke him up, then, to his surprise, spent more than thirty seconds fixing her hair. She made him go over to her cabin and grab a low-cut tank top and gym shorts. He took them back to her and when she dressed, he found her studying herself in the mirror.

"What's up?" he asked. Jennifer rarely seemed to give a damn about how she looked, often dressing in somewhat baggy clothes and doing little more with her hair than pulling it into a rough ponytail. The clothes he brought her were tight and showed off a lot of skin and gave her an impressive cleavage.

"Just want to look good," she replied.

"You don't normally."

"Are you complaining?" she asked, turning and facing him fully now, leaning forward slightly to show off her chest.

"Nope. Not at all."

"Good, then let's go get breakfast."

Breakfast was awkward. Jennifer hung on Trent's arm and openly complimented how good he was at sex. It got even more awkward when Kiza agreed. Dead silence ensued.

"I...Trent...you had sex..._with an Elite_?" Melissa asked, completely shocked.

"Yep," Trent replied. This wasn't how he wanted it to come out to Jennifer, but when he looked over at her, she was just smiling.

"I think that's hot," Nadia said quietly.

"I have to agree with Nadia," Jennifer said.

"And how does _Enzo_ feel about all this?" Melissa asked, staring at him.

"I am the one who suggested it. Well, Kiza suggested it to me, then I suggested it to Trent," he replied evenly.

"Oh, Lord," Melissa moaned.

Trent was glad when Eric, who had began to take over piloting duties because he knew how to do it and he said it helped center him, informed them that they had arrived over the planet. Trent stood up and slipped his dishes in the sink.

"Okay, Jennifer, Can, you're with me. Everyone else, see that Childs' stockers get everything resupplied," Trent said. Childs had agreed to meet them over the colony world Jared was hiding out on and resupply the ship.

There were a string of affirmative replies.

Trent headed for the airlock.


	25. Jared

_**Chapter 25  
**-Jared-_

They took a ride down in a Pelican from the ship Childs had sent their way for the refuel, restock and resupply. Trent, Jennifer and Cann rode in silence through the atmosphere. Jared had been reading up on Jared West. He had a fairly impressive career, and had even fought on Earth and the Ark. Then, for some reason, he'd been given a crap assignment in the middle of nowhere. Trent read up on the outbreak of some kind of virus that caused Humans to mutate into mindless, though very efficient, killing machines.

He wondered why he hadn't heard of this before. Probably too busy with other crap. He read that Jared was unstable and seemed to be obsessed with hunting down Black Ops. Eric and him would probably get along really well. The Pelican bumped.

"So...how was sex with Kiza?" Jennifer asked, breaking the silence. Trent sighed. "What!? I can't ask that?!" she added immediately.

"No. It's fine. I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier, it's just..."

"Trent. I don't need a laundry list of all your sexual experiences. I'm not that kind of girl," Jennifer replied. "Now, how was it?"

"Freaking amazing," he replied. She laughed.

"Better than me?" she asked. Trent opened his mouth, then closed it diplomatically.

"I'm going to maintain my silence," he said finally. Jennifer laughed again and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Fair enough."

* * *

The colony was a miserable, gloomy, rainy place. They landed at a military base on the far side of town and began walking along the streets. Cann wanted to take a taxi, but Trent wanted to walk. How long had it been since he'd just...gone for a walk? The rain was cold and bitter, but it helped clear his head. Jennifer didn't seem to mind. They all work jeans and coats and combat boots, making their way along a rainy street.

Now that they weren't in a combat situation, Trent remembered that he liked the rain. He was aware that people existed who hated it, and couldn't comprehend it. Rain was one of the most interesting and calming things the universe did with any consistency. For as long as he could remember, Trent had loved it.

"There's the apartment building," Cann said. He looked and sounded unhappy. Downright miserable, actually. Trent glanced at him and saw him staring longingly at several of the buildings they passed. Bar; nightclub; strip joint. Trent understood. While he was a bit reclusive himself, he'd been known to head out sometimes.

They entered the apartment building and found the dilapidated lobby abandoned. Trent led the way, climbing the stairs. He could feel the handle of his pistol bumping up against his chest as he ascended. His body was still sore, but nowhere near as much as it had been. Jared West lived on the third story. Trent knocked on the door. There was a pause and he sensed someone behind the door, staring at him through an old-fashioned peephole.

"Who is it?" The reply that finally came was muffled.

"Trent Temple, ONI Specialist," Trent replied. There was another long pause.

"What do you want?"

"To talk to you about a mutual enemy." Trent half-expected gunshots to exploded through the cheap, plywood door. Instead, the lock disengaged and the door was opened. A haggard, harrowed, very pale man with a grim expression was revealed. He wore a white tanktop and cargo pants. He held an M6G in his hand, but had it pointed at the floor.

"What enemy would that be?" he asked, still blocking the door.

"Black Ops." Jared's eyes widened a little. He seemed to consider something, then, finally, stepped back out of the way. Trent, Cann and Jennifer entered the apartment. The place was very bleak, hardly furnished it all. Trent almost suspected the guy of squatting there. Piles of clothes and empty fast-food takeout littered the ground and every available surface. Jared locked the door behind them and collapsed onto the couch.

"I was napping," he said, grabbing a cigarette and lighting up. Trent stared hard at Jared. He saw the look of a man who had been broken, and had never quite come back from that breaking point. He looked like a man who didn't care whether he lived or died. Trent spent the next twenty minutes laying his cards out on the table. Jared listened. At first he seemed disinterested, but his interest grew the more Trent talked about Black Ops.

"So...what do you say?" he asked, ending the whole thing with the proposition. Jared seemed to consider it for a while. He was much more awake and interested now. He stubbed out his cigarette and lit up another one.

"So I'd get to kill Black Ops?" he asked finally.

"It would, literally, be your job," Trent replied. Jared smiled at that.

"And I could get gear? Armor? Weapons? Whatever I wanted?"

"Yes." Jared rubbed his stubble-stained jaw. Abruptly, he stood and thrust out his hand. Trent shook it.

"You've got yourself a partner."

* * *

By the time Trent and the others got back up to the _Deathstalker_, Childs' people had finished refitting the ship. Trent was impressed, they'd done a good job. Even restocked the kitchen with all the foods he liked. He took Jared around the ship, introducing him to the crew and the other Survivors. He ended the tour with the armory.

"So, we didn't have to get you a specialized suit, also we didn't know what you wanted, since, obviously, we just got you onboard..._however_, we do have a suit of armor that's roughly the equivalent of the what the Spartan-IIIs get to wear. So it's good stuff. Also, you can pretty much take your pick of weaponry," Trent said, showing Jared his spot in the armory. Jared didn't show much interest until they arrived at the armory.

"This is pretty nice," he said, running his hands over glass case that held his armor and weapons. "Very nice."

"Yeah. Now, can you show us where this Black Ops base is?" Trent replied. Jared nodded, lingering at the case for a moment longer, then heading back out. They went through the ship, coming up to the bridge where Jennifer and Nadia sat. Jared fed some coordinates into the navigational database.

"It's an asteroid-based research station. They're doing research there on the virus that they originally used to infected the world I was on. That's all I really know about it," he explained.

"How the hell were you planning on getting there, or sneaking in?" Trent asked. Jared chuckled and shrugged.

"Dunno. Probably steal a ship or something. Hire a mercenary gang." This didn't bode well, but Trent decided to let it slide. Jared probably wasn't the only one in the Survivors who occasionally had suicidal tendencies.

"Alright then, I'll talk with Childs," he said.

"Okay. I'll be in my quarters. I need some sleep. Call me when you need me." Jared left the bridge. Trent called up Childs and had a brief, unfortunate chat with him. All he took away from it was that he was going to be flying blind. They couldn't get anyone there in time to do proper recon. Sighing softly, he told Jennifer to head out. He stared out the front windows and watched the stars brighten, then blur, then disappear.

Jennifer finished locking in their course, double-checking her panels and then stood. She slipped behind Trent and wrapped her arms around him.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Yeah...fine. Tired, I guess. How long until we get there?"

"About thirteen hours."

"Alright...want to help me relax?" Jennifer smiled and took his hand.

* * *

Black Ops had set up shop in a real nowhere region of space. The solar system they were in could hardly be called as such, as it only supported a weak blue star, a trio of dwarf planets and a loosely scattered around the edge. They initiated the _Deathstalker's _stealth feature as soon as they entered the system and made a slow burn towards the asteroid in question. Trent hung around on the bridge just long enough for the sensors to confirm the presence of a base on the far side of the asteroid. He moved behind Jennifer, who sat in her chair.

"Bring us in nice and easy. You sure you can land this thing on the surface?" he asked.

"Yes, Trent," she replied, rolling her eyes. Trent laughed, kissed her twice for good luck and then headed for the armory. He grabbed Eric on the way there and found Jared already in his armor, selecting his arsenal.

"So it's just the three of us?" Eric asked.

"Yes. I wanted a three-man team. We're going on a stealth-based approach, at least at first. And I knew I'd need you two since you both have hard-ons for putting Black Ops personnel six feet deep."

"Thanks," Eric said. "Really."

"Yeah," Jared muttered, grabbing a SAW and ammo for it. Trent got into his armor and then selected a shotgun and a pair of pistols. He loaded his armor down with spare ammo and grenades. He felt the subtle click of landing gear sliding into place, the sound reverberating through the hull. Trent finished up, making sure his suit was back up to snuff.

"Alright...let's get to it."


	26. Undead

_**Chapter 26  
**-Undead-_

They landed the _Deathstalker_ a quarter mile from the structure. Trent, Eric and Jared disembarked via the airlock. Trent surveyed the area as he began moving away from the ship. Nothing but bleak desolation surrounding them on all sides. The misshapen asteroid landscape was constructed entirely of pock-marked gray rock. He and the others began to ascend a hill, keeping on course with nav markers.

"So...what was it like, the first time you came up against Black Ops?" Trent asked over their secured comm line.

_"Grim. Ugly. Lots of dead bodies and blood. They created the Undead to test on us. My whole planet. They were even experimenting on us and the creatures,"_ Jared replied.

_"Jesus," _Eric muttered.

"We've seen all kinds of shit so far. Stuff they've dug up and stuff they've been experimenting on. No Zombies so far, though."

_"Consider yourself lucky,"_ Jared replied. They crested the hill and not too far away, Trent could see the lights of the installation. He stood and stared for several moments, trying to get a feel for it. He flipped through several vision filters, but could see nothing that suggested any exterior guards on patrol or standing around.

_"So how do we get in?"_ Eric asked.

"I suppose we just walk up and hope for the best," Trent replied.

_"You guys are crazier than I am,"_ Jared said.

"We're lucky," Trent replied, then started walking. The others followed him. They continued across the asteroid, moving as quickly as they could in the zero atmosphere and incredibly light gravity. Trent's stomach rolled as he walked. He'd spent time in almost zero g and totally zero g, but it wasn't something you got used to.

They continued their quick walk across the surface. Trent stared up at the distant pinpoints of light. Stars, infinitely far away. Something was bothering him, but he wasn't entirely sure what it was for the moment. Something about Black Ops. He decided that now was the time to focus, not to speculate and brood.

They came right up to the facility. It was essentially a large, titanium building. There were no windows and, as far as Trent could see, no doors. He was positive that they were being detected right now, but there seemed to be no immediate reaction. They kept going, making their way silently along the exterior wall. Trent could feel a tension mounting. Something was going to happen, but he wasn't exactly sure what.

They finally found an airlock after five minutes of searching. Trent and Jared stood watch while Eric hacked into the controls. He overrode the lock and opened the doorways. Trent peered cautiously within. There was no one waiting for them. The trio slipped inside and initiated the airlock. It cycled them through, pumping in oxygen. Trent readied his shotgun, pointing it towards the doorway. It opened up, revealing a locker room.

Nothing waited for them in the lock room. A steady white light lit the area. Trent slowly stepped out. Everything appeared to be in order, save for two lockers on opposite sides of the room that were standing ajar. It gave the area an unsettling feel of abrupt abandonment. Trent watched his motion tracker, but there was nothing on it save for the others. They moved cautiously through the locker room to the door opposite.

Trent peered into the corridor beyond. Immediately he could see signs of conflict. Blood pooled on the floor and was sprayed across the walls in a very visceral pattern. No corpses, though. Never a good sign. Trent sighed.

"Switch on, boys. Shit just got real," he said, letting his shotgun go first. He led the way down the corridor, their boots squelching in the fresh blood. First order of business, as usual, was to locate a terminal. Trent peered around the next corner and spied one not far away. He caught a bit of movement at the end of the corridor, but it was lost almost immediately. Distantly, they could hear gunfire. And something shrieking in a high, inhuman voice.

They got to the terminal and Eric punched in. A few moments passed in uncomfortable silence, broken occasionally by the frenzied sounds of conflict.

"Got it," Eric said.

"Well?" Trent replied.

"There's a Command Center up ahead. That's where the data will be."

"Any ideas what's waiting for us?"

"No. Sensors are out. Comms are basically nil, as well."

"It's them," Jared said. "I've opened my vents. I can smell them. It's the Undead."

"Shit...alright, let's get in and out as quick as we can."

They set off down the corridor. Trent had seen a great deal of Zombie media, and he had to say he enjoyed it. But there was something just inherently creepy about the idea of a corpse that got back up and tried to kill you. Distantly, something roared. Trent kept himself sharp. They turned another corner and came to a blood-drenched antechamber.

"Left," Eric murmured. They moved past the broken desk and static-stricken bank of screens that took up one corner. A decapitated head lay on its side, mouth open in an eternal, silent scream. Trent broke left and opened the door. Someone was running towards him, a man in a suit of black armor.

There was something behind him.

"Back!" Trent snapped, stepping back and out of the way. They readied their weapons and waited. Abruptly the man in black armor shot through. Trent readied himself to attack the creatures and save the Black Ops trooper. It was always good to extract info out of a bad guy. But almost as soon as the soldier had cleared the doorway the thing that had been chasing him tackled him to the ground and tore into him.

The man screamed as the thing tore through his armor like a can opener and got to the meat beneath. Blood flew on the air. Trent leveled his shotgun and fired. The creature was picked up and thrown across the room. Trent checked the soldier, but he was dead, bled out.

"What have we here?" Eric murmured, approaching the thing that had been attacking him and crouching over it. Trent and Jared joined him. The thing was downright ugly. It was once human, Trent could see that. But it was...elongated, somehow. Warped almost to a skeletal frame, skin more like saran wrap than actual flesh. It had a large, awkwardly shaped head and a massive jaw stuffed with razor-sharp, bloody teeth.

"Speed Demon," Jared said. "Faster than fair."

"Wonderful..." Trent muttered. He straightened up and led the way out of the antechamber. They hurried down the next passageway, checking the corners and shadows that seemed to cluster in certain areas. He could hear a lot more chaos now, echoing all across the base. Jagged screams and the staccato of machine-gun fire and the occasional, muffled _whump!_ of an explosion. And the sounds of the Undead, of course.

Shrieks and roars and low, bass-rumbling growls.

All the more reason to hurry.

By the time they reached Command Control, they had been forced to put down another half dozen Speed Demons and some shambling horrors that Trent thought of as, and Jared confirmed were, just regular Zombies. Apparently, given enough time, they wouldn't stay that way. They found Command Control a mess. The battle had come and gone here. The doors had been broken in, the personnel taken away, murdered and probably converted into Zombies themselves. Eric made for the main console.

"Three minutes," he said. Trent and Jared nodded. There were three ways into Command Control. Well, Trent noted bitterly, three _obvious_ ways. He spotted at least four ventilation shaft grates overhead. Time began to tick by uncomfortably. The only sound was the distant noises of chaos and Eric working.

Then they came.

At first there were just some zombies, half a dozen former techs in torn, bloodied black jumpsuits shambling in through one of the three doors. Trent let his pistol do the talking, taking his time with headshots and putting them down. But almost before he could holster it again, something shrieked and bounded in through the door. Jared was on it, cutting it nearly in half with a concentrated blast from his SAW.

Another Speed Demon. More things were on their way.

"How much longer?" Trent asked.

"Minute and a half," Eric replied. Something rattled overhead. Trent glanced up. Two of the vent grates burst open simultaneously and a pair of new horrors were deposited into the room.

"Creepers!" Jared shouted. He sighted one and blew it away. Trent stared at the sickly white thing with glowing crimson eyes before him, leveled the shotgun and blew its head off.

"Any day now, Eric!" Trent called. He could hear something else coming. Something big.

"Got it!" Eric replied. They abandoned Command Control, heading back the way they had come right as something huge lumbered into the room.

"Berserker!" Jared screamed. "Go! Run!"

They bolted down the passageway. Trent tossed a few grenades behind him as he ran for good measure. There were twin explosions, followed by the sound of something roaring in furious pain. He risked a glanced over his shoulder as they neared the end of the corridor. Something _huge_, nearly nine feet tall and thick with raw, bulky muscle, was rushing for them. They came into the antechamber, threw some more grenades and kept running.

More explosions, and more roaring. And it was still coming.

"We're never going to outrun this thing," Trent said.

"Alright. Shit. It should be hurt by now...let's kill it," Jared replied. They came to the end of another corridor, spun on their heels and raised their weapons. The Berserker was coming for them. They opened fire, muzzles flaring, guns speaking. Trent emptied his shotgun and let it hang, pulling out his pistol and emptying it, too.

Black blood flew on the air and the monster roared with an unholy fury as holes opened up on it. But right as they ran out of ammo, it began stumbling, then it crashed to the floor and slid a few feet. Jared reloaded his SAW and poured another dozen rounds into its skull. Trent decided it would be best not to wait around and kept going.

"You know, here's something I haven't really considered yet," he said. "What the hell is Black Ops endgame? Why are they doing all this?"

"No idea," Jared replied. "Don't really care. I'm just in it to murder."

"I have theories...but none of them are good," Eric replied.

"Like what?"

"Well..." They came to the airlock and began to cycle through it. "Oh...I just realized that I forgot to mention something. I set the base's reactor to overload."

"You _what_!?" Trent cried.

"It seemed prudent."

"Oh, for God's sake..." Trent moaned. The airlock finished cycling. They hurried out of it, running away from the base as quickly as they could manage in the almost zero g.

"Don't worry, I gave us time," Eric said. They crested the hill and had just begun to go back down it when the entire base blew, throwing them to their feet. Trent was silent for several moments as he climbed back to his feet and stared at Eric pointedly.

"What?!" he asked finally.

"You don't get to come on the next mission," Trent replied.

They started walking back to the _Deathstalker_.


	27. Noble Five

_**Chapter 27  
**-Noble Five-_

Home. Trent was home again. The _Deathstalker_ had taken off as soon as they were inside. The explosion had destabilized the asteroid and it had begun to come apart. Trent took a copy of the data Eric had downloaded, went to the bridge and jacked it into the console. He was preparing to call up Childs and make a quick report, but he'd hardly had time to begin the upload of the data when Childs called him.

"Hey, boss. We got some more data. Looks like Black Ops was doing research on the Living Dead there, as per Jared's report. The base was destroyed. I'm preparing to upload the data to you now. As soon as you give us Linda's location, we'll go get here and wrap this reunion tour up," Trent said. He was tired.

_"Linda may not need picking up...at least not now. Something has come up. Something that requires your immediate attention. I've fed new coordinates into your navigational database. I suggest you take off immediately," _Childs replied. Trent glanced at Jennifer, who was already making adjustments to her console and firing up the slipspace drive.

"Alright, we're going. So what's up?"

_"During the Covenant invasion of Reach back in twenty five fifty two, there was a team of Spartans, mostly Threes. Noble Team. They were instrumental in certain operations on Reach that made the situation a lot less worse than it could have been. Most of them are dead. In fact, officially speaking, only one survived. However, we may have reason to believe now that there may be another survivor. A Spartan Two." _Trent was intrigued. It would be great to have another Spartan Two on the team. They were genuinely heavy hitters.

"What's his name?" he replied.

_"Jorge. Designation Zero Five Two. He's one tough son of a bitch. The official report reads that while delivering a 'slipspace bomb', essentially a slipspace engine designed to malfunction, to a Covenant ship, he opted to stay behind with the bomb, as the detonator had become damaged. The entire middle section of the ship vanished into slipspace and he was presumed dead. However...slipspace has always been...strange. I've just picked up reports of an 'anomalous occurrence' in low orbit over a planet named Core. Initial scans reveal that something fell out of the disturbance and was last seen crash-landing on the surface."_

Childs paused, consulting a datapad for a moment, while Trent digested this new information. This was definitely intriguing.

_"Further scans verify that the something that fell out matches the mid-section of a Covenant Corvette. It might be a long shot, but this all matches up pretty well. If Jorge is on there, and still alive, I want him. Jun wouldn't sign up, for whatever reason. But I want Jorge. We need more Survivors if we're going to make this work." _Trent noticed a hint of desperation in his voice.

"Don't worry...if he's alive, I'll see to it."

_"Good. Luckily you should only be about two hours out from Core. I want you hitting dirt literally as soon as you are able."_

"Got it." Childs cut the link. "Maybe enough time for a shower," Trent murmured. Jennifer spun around in her seat.

"I'll come," she said, standing up.

* * *

Trent showered and did other things with Jennifer, then dressed in a fresh uniform and rounded up who he decided he was going to take. After his most recent mission, he felt that maybe he should take the non-Survivors with him. Mainly because he thought they deserved to see some action but also because it would be nice to give them a chance to fight. Although he wasn't sure what they might be fighting down there.

Childs hadn't said that there'd be any resistance, but somehow Trent simply knew that something would be waiting down there for him. He rounded them up and called them to the load-out bay. They all showed up. Blake, N, Chips and Banks.

"Finally decided to put us to use, huh?" Banks asked. Trent chuckled uneasily. It was still strange being around the guy. He was a little bit of a legend.

"Yeah. So...turns out that a Spartan Two we had listed as MIA, but in reality KIA, might not be so KIA. We're going to go grab him," Trent replied.

"Really?" Blake asked.

"Yep."

"Who is it?" Banks asked.

"Spartan Zero Five Two. Jorge."

"Huh. I've heard of him and Noble Team. Damn, it'll be nice to meet him in real life. He's supposed to actually be pretty personable."

"Here's hoping...so, everyone gear up and get ready to drop. We're going to drop in in about twenty minutes."

* * *

Trent didn't like where this was going. His pod was burning through the atmosphere with four others, making for the crash site. Initial scans had confirmed life signs: one Human and a handful of Covenant. The Human appeared to be in good condition. The Covenant did not. Trent thought that _that_ part was just fine. But it was what else the scans revealed: a collection of vessels that appeared to be Blacks Ops were also heading towards the site.

Trent and his crew would beat them there with time to spare, but still...He initiated the scanning equipment in his pod and ran a fresh one. The human life sign was still there, but the Covenant life signs had been reduced by half. Either they were succumbing to their wounds or Jorge was making swift work of the survivors.

Suddenly, he broke through the gray cloud cover. He was given a good view of a vast vista, a landscape of green fields and trees. An enormous, ruined, smoking purple pile of metal slag marred the area. Beyond it, maybe half a mile away, he thought he spied some kind of structure. But then he was slamming into the ground, jarring him from his thoughts. Trent grabbed his battle rifle, made sure his pistol was secure and popped the pod.

The others were doing the same around him. They had landed barely fifty meters from the edge of the wreckage. Trent checked that everyone had made it down fine and that their weapons were free, then tried to get into contact with Jorge.

"This is Trent Temple, ONI Specialist to Spartan Zero Five Two. Please come in." Nothing. Not even static. Just dead air. Trent tried twice more, then gave up. He studied the others briefly as they approached. Chips and Banks had both chosen souped up versions of jet-black ODST armor. Blake, interestingly, had stuck with his Yellowjacket armor. N wore a sleek black-blue suit of Elite armor that covered him head to toe, making him look decidedly lethal.

They reached the ship and entered it through a gigantic tear in the hull. He paused once to check in with the _Deathstalker_, but received nothing in response.

"Shit," he growled. "Everyone, comms check. Can anyone reach the ship?" No one could. No coincidence. "Great. Something's blocking our signal. Alright, come on. Let's at least get in there and get Jorge out."

They entered the ship. Immediately the ruined corridor they came into was stricken with the feel of claustrophobia. As Trent came to stand within, he noticed a wave of static wash across his HUD. At least the wreckage had landed upright, so they weren't forced to walk on the walls or ceiling. The ground, however, was very uneven. Huge dents made what had once been a broad corridor cramped and confining. Trent stepped over the corpse of an Elite and stared at it for a moment. He thought about something.

This slipspace accident...it seemed to follow that the wreckage had been teleported almost instantaneously from one point in space and time to another. For Jorge and the Covenant onboard, Reach would have been yesterday. Perhaps it was best none of these Covenant survived. Trent kept going.

They wounded their way slowly through the ruined vessel. There was more static on his HUD. The others complained of the same. Trent didn't like it. Lights flickered, sparks spat and plasma leaked from cracked open power conduits. They found more corpses, lots more. Distantly, Trent heard gunfire. The roar of an Elite. An explosion. The sounds of a Spartan Two at work. Trent looked forward to meeting him.

They finally came to what Trent realized had once been the control center. Elites put their bridges at the center of every vessel, which definitely made a lot more sense than putting it at the front. Trent heard a sound from within. Two signals appeared on his motion tracker, which was still flickering occasionally.

He opened the door. A scene was playing out before him. An Elite in golden armor was being choked out by an enormous, bulky man in Spartan armor, sprayed with purple and phosphorescent gore. With a final twist, the Elite's neck snapped and it went slack. He let it down to the ground and then stood, regarding the new group from behind a silver visor. Trent hesitated. A moment of tension passed between them.

Finally, Jorge reached up and took off his helmet.

"That's the last of them," he said. "Who are you? And why is there an Elite behind you? Should I kill him?" He was being surprisingly calm about this.

"No!...I...well, I have some explaining to do, I guess. My name is Trent Temple. I'm with ONI," Trent replied. Jorge stared at him for a moment.

"That isn't standard Helljumper armor. And I have _no_ idea what kind of armor that is," he said, nodding to Blake's Yellowjacket armor.

"Explanations will have to wait, I'm afraid. Our comms are out down and bad guys are on the way," Trent replied. Jorge stared at him for a moment, a huge man with a shaved head and grim eyes, then he nodded and resealed his helmet.

"Something like an EMP blew through here. Screwed up all my electronics. Most of the weapons, too. My gear's pretty much scrapped anyway. Anyone got a spare?" he asked, approaching. Trent passed him his battle rifle, opting to using his pistol and hoping to find something good at that structure he'd seen not too far away.

"Thanks. What's the plan?" Jorge asked, checking out the rifle. "...what model gun is this?" he asked.

"I'll explain later," Trent replied uneasily. "There's a structure about half a mile away from here. I suggest we haul ass and hoof it there to set up a defensive position."

"Alright. Let's go."


	28. Holing Up

_**Chapter 28  
**-Holing Up-_

"What's the last thing you remember?" Trent asked.

They were treking across the landscape, making for the structure. He could hear no engines, but was sure Black Ops was on its way. How did they know where he was all the time? Jorge kept shooting looks at N, which was making everyone uncomfortable.

"Coming up from Reach. Planting the slipspace bomb on the Covenant corvette," he replied. "Then it went off. Screwed up most of the electronics. Then crashing. Killing the rest of the Covenant onboard."

"I see...where do you think we are right now?"

"Looks like Reach."

"What if I were to tell you it wasn't?"

More silence passed between them. Jorge seemed to consider this quietly for a long moment. Finally, he shrugged.

"Weirder things have happened, I suppose. Where are we?"

"A planet called Core." Another silence.

"Core...I've heard of Core. It's...if my memory serves, it's quite a ways away from Reach."

"Yes, it is."

"Well, I've heard of some pretty weird things happening from slipspace malfunctions, I guess it's possible."

"I've got more bad news."

"Oh?"

"The current date is July seventh, twenty five fifty three." This time, Jorge stopped. They were about fifty meters from the structure now, which had slowly resolved into what appeared to be a lone military outpost. Trent hoped against hope that it was.

"A year?" he replied. "A year since I was on Reach...my God..." He started walking again and fell quiet as they made their final approach. Finally, he said, "I guess I just want to know one thing. Is the war over?"

"Yes. We won. The Elites sided with us. The Covenant is gone," Trent replied. Here, Jorge looked at N. Finally, he nodded.

"That explains a lot, I suppose. So what's what the rundown?"

"Some men are coming to kill us...we're going to kill them first."

* * *

The outpost did turn out to be an old Marine base. Trent knew that there were hundreds, maybe thousands of these, still scattered across dozens of planets, abandoned abruptly in the midst of the war and as yet to be reclaimed. He hoped they had left their armory intact. The building was two stories and just a single structure.

Now, Trent could hear the drone of engines. Black Ops would be on their ass soon. They hurried across a cracked instacrete landing pad and Trent opened the main doors. He entered the main lobby and surveyed the area. Definitely abandoned a while ago.

"We've got hostiles!" Blake called.

"Shit," Trent growled, spinning around. The others came into the lobby. Trent took quick assessment of the room they were in. Just the front door, two long windows along the front and two doors that led deeper into the facility.

"Secure those doors, then prepare to repel assholes!" Trent called.

They scrambled. The thrumming of the engines was loud now. Trent slammed the door shut and secured it, hoping it would hold, then moved to the windows. They were still intact. He fired a few rounds from his pistol, shattering the windows, and slid up against the wall next to them. He peered out into the area beyond.

A trio of ships, what looked to be sleeker, pitch-black Pelicans, were riding low and fast towards them. The others joined him at the windows, weapons at ready. Trent kept the lead Pelican in his sight, staring down the zoom of his pistol. A moment of tense silence passed as the Pelicans settled themselves down on the landscape and disgorged two dozen troops in black armor. They immediately began opening fire and scrambling for cover.

Trent began picking them off as quickly as he could, putting threw of them down with shattered visors from his battle rifle. He saw sprays of blood as bullets punched through armor, getting at the soft, yielding flesh below. Eight went down before they had managed to scramble into cover. The Pelicans lifted off almost immediately, probably to go grab more troops. Or make room for a fresh batch.

Trent emptied his pistol and hastily reloaded. Around him, the others fired, picking their targets and taking them down as quickly as possible. Trent knew this had to end quickly. They needed time to search and secure the outpost, find some kind of way to get the comms working. He spied a black helmet peer from around a tree and snapped off a lucky shot, shattering his visor in a spray of blood and broken glass.

He got a good feel for the others. Jorge was grizzled vet, a consumate professional. Everything about him spoke of decades of combat, the training that the old Spartan Twos had. He picked his shots carefully, never wasting a round, never missing. Blake had only gotten better since their time together on the Flood-infested ship. Chips, Banks and N were all holding their own, too. It seemed the end of the war hadn't softened them a bit.

Time passed. Bullets flew. Blood sprayed. The last of the Black Ops troops were put down. After a moment of silence passed and Trent felt that Black Ops was pushed back for the moment, he began giving out the orders.

"Chips, Blake, head out there. Grab all the gear, guns and ammo you can find. N, head up to the roof, I want you on overwatch with that Carbine of yours. Banks, Jorge, with me. We need to figure out what the hell we've got to work with before a second wave shows up," Trent said. There were a string of affirmative replies.

Trent felt an immense relief. He felt he could trust Blake to follow his lead without question, but the others? Especially Jorge? They were professionals, to be sure, but some of them were used to giving the orders, not following them. But they all seemed to have fallen right into line quickly enough. Trent began considering all the things they'd have to do. First thing was first. He walked over to the wall and hit the light switch.

Nothing. He moved through one of the doors and tried the switch in that corridor. Still nothing. The power was likely long dead. He wished he'd brought Eric along. They moved quickly through the outpost, checking every room and figuring out all the ways in and out. This would serve as their fire base for now.

There were two stories and a basement. The second story was nothing but living quarters, a messhall and a rec room. The ground floor held the infirmary, armory, radio room and security center. The basement was storage and the generator room.

First on Trent's list was the armory. He was pleased to find it well-stocked. The Marines had left too hastily for a full inventory and extraction of their arsenal. Trent mentally saluted whoever had been here before as he stared over the crates of ammunition and grenades, the racked pistols, shotguns, assault rifles, sniper rifles...

Next was the infirmary. It was dusty, but also stocked up. After checking that out, Trent led them down into the basement. It was basically one large room full of dusty crates pushed up against the walls and stacked to the ceiling. At the back of the room was the generator, a large collection of dark equipment, lit only by their flashlights.

"I don't suppose either of you could see about getting this thing online?" he asked.

"I could," Banks replied. "I've picked up a lot of technical know-how down the years."

"Alright, excellent. Get on it. Jorge, you're with me."

They headed back up out of the basement into the sunlit rooms. He moved back to the front to find Chips and Blake returning with a fresh armful of weapons. They came in and set them down on a pair of tables in the antechamber, where others were gathering.

"How's it going?" Blake asked.

"Banks is working on the generator. You done out there?" Trent replied. Chips nodded.

"Yup."

"Excellent. N?"

_"Things are secure topside, though I do hear another wave coming towards us. Still far off, but we should ready ourselves,"_ N replied over their short-range frequency.

"Can you provide support safely from up there?"

_"Affirmative."_

"Excellent. Stay up there-" He stopped as the lights abruptly flared to life. A moment later Banks rejoined them.

"Turns out they just turned it off before they left. We still have power," he reported.

"Excellent. We need to start closing of all the entrances, all the windows. This base should have shutters and security locks. Go now, quick as you can, then regroup here. N, keep us advised."

_"Affirmative."_

Trent took a deep beath, let it out and headed off. Already, he could hear the drone of the incoming second wave.


	29. Game Changer

_**Chapter 29  
**-Game Changer-_

Trent let out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding. The last Black Ops troop had fallen. The number of corpses on the field in front of the outpost and even as close as the instacrete landing pad had nearly tripled. The second wave had been a lot bigger, but with N's help up top they had slaughtered them at a good pace.

"Check the perimeter," Trent said.

The others moved to comply with his order. They had managed to get all of the shutters closed and the emergency bulkheads in place just before the second wave had showed up. Now, the only way into the base was through the front. At least not without some serious firepower. Trent hoped he wouldn't have to worry about that, but knew this hope to be hollow immediately. The others began reporting in a few moments later.

They were clear. No survivors, no bad guys in sight for the moment.

"Alright, Jorge, Chips, Blake, get to that armory and see what you can come up with for defenses. I get the feeling we're going to be holding out here for a little while. Banks, meet me in the radio room," he said.

There were a string of affirmative replies. Trent headed back through the base and found Banks waiting for him in the long-abandoned comms room. It was little more than a closet. A desk with a radio atop it, flanked on either side by a mess of equipment and a single swivel chair. Banks took a seat in the chair and attempted to fire up the comms. It flared to life, the equipment around them whispering as the ghost returned to haunt the machine.

"Hmm," Banks murmured, staring into the comms display.

"What?" Trent asked.

"Just one moment..."

His hands flew over the keyboard, working as quickly as he could. Trent saw the screen flare and cycle through several different images and backgrounds. Finally, after a long moment, the only sounds that of the other men banging things around in the armory, Banks sat back.

"Well, the good news is that this works, the bad news is that the signal is being blocked, the best news it that the blocking method looks pretty rudimentary and I might be able to break through it if I head up top and make a few modifications to the comms array," he explained.

"Excellent. Do it, quick as you can," Trent replied.

"Already on it."

"Banks stood and left the room. Trent headed down to the armory, hoping they could get the hell out of this situation as quickly as possible. This was supposed to be easy: pick up Jorge and be on their way. He hated this time-suck that these missions were becoming. Every minute they wasted was another minute Black Ops continued on with their plan...whatever the hell that plan was. He hoped there was some more relevant data in whatever Eric pulled from the asteroid-based research station. He found Jorge carrying a pair of heavy machine-gun turrets from the armory.

"Got an idea?" Trent asked.

"A couple...gonna put these up on the roof. Was also thinking of maybe spreading some weapons out across the base at viable entry points, in case we needed to get there fast and grab a new weapon," he replied.

"Sounds like a plan. Need any help with those?" Trent asked.

"No. But I do need help with something else. Follow me."

They headed up to the roof. Banks was already hard at work on the array, a tall tower of glistening steel, and N was keeping watch. Jorge set down the pair of turrets and began setting up their tri-pods.

"So, what's up?" Trent asked.

"My team. Noble. What happened? The last I saw of Noble was throwing Six from orbit," Jorge replied without looking up, still working. Trent frowned. He'd made sure to look into Noble Team before coming here.

"Everyone but Jun is dead," he replied bluntly. He felt it might be the best way to handle the bulky Spartan. Jorge paused, briefly, then kept working.

"And Reach?"

"Mostly glass, but there's restoration going on. The others died protecting Reach and...well...man, I have _so much_ to explain to you. A _lot_ more happened. I guess, the best I can do to sum it up is say that near the end, it wasn't just us versus the Covenant anymore."

"Who else got involved? Innies?"

"No..." Trent spent a few moments briefly detailing the Halos, the Forerunners and the Flood. To all this, Jorge only said,

"Huh." He finished up and stood, then played with the turrets, making sure they worked. "What about the other Spartan Twos, how many are left? What about Master Chief?"

"Missing in action. _Really_, missing in action, non of this Spartans never die shit," Trent replied. Jorge snorted and chuckled. "Linda is still alive," Trent added.

"I remember her. She still kicking ass?"

"Yeah, I guess you could say that. She's a Survivor. Chances are you'll meet her after we get off Core," Trent replied.

"That would be nice," Jorge said. He looked at Banks. "Would you like help with that? I've picked up some tech training in my time."

"Yeah, sure," Banks replied. Jorge walked over and knelt by the array. Trent decided head back downstairs and see what was what. He ran into Blake on the way back to the armory. They walked back to it together.

"How have you been? We haven't really had time to talk," Trent said as they began to sort through the weapons.

"I've been...getting better, I think," Blake replied hesitantly. "It was ugly after the _Erebus_. I was...well, it wasn't good. But I got through the worst of it. Took some R and R. Went to see what was left of my family...had a fling with a girl on Earth. It was really nice. Took her down to a beach in Greece. Rented a cabin. It was like paradise. I think that went a long way towards helping me. I needed time to just...relax."

"I feel you there, shit...I could use some relaxation after all this," Trent replied.

"What about you?"

"Same old road, I'm afraid. Killing Black Ops and more Black Ops."

Trent selected a battle rifle and a shotgun for a reason he couldn't quite put his finger on. A shotgun wouldn't be an ideal weapon for a long-range firefight. But something made him hang onto it. He shrugged, shoveled clips and fat red shells into his pockets, as well as a few grenades. He grabbed a pair of crates, one for ammo, one for grenades.

"Let's go set up shop," he said.

Blake grabbed another pair of crates and they headed back to the main lobby, where they found Chips playing with the sights of a sniper rifle.

"Hey fellas, I used to be quite the sniper. Did I ever tell you about my time back on the original Halo? Or Delta Halo? Or the Ark?" he asked.

"You've told _me_ plenty of times," Blake complained. The pair set down their crates in easily accessible positions.

"Halo was a real, genuine beauty," Chips continued. "The first one, anyway. Second one was, too, don't get me wrong...and the Ark...but nothing really compared to that first time, when you first stepped foot onto the first Halo..." He was interrupted by Banks, who had come down from the roof.

"We've got company," he said. Trent listened. He could hear the low drone of more engines. The third way. He grabbed one of Chips's sniper rifles and peered into the distance. Yes, there were more ships coming for them. Four. But something was different about these ships. They were nothing like Pelicans, instead more closely resembling the bulbous hull of a Phantom dropship. There was something sinister about them.

"Something new," Trent murmured. "Get ready everyone. I don't like this."

Everyone moved into position. Trent let the sniper rifle lay back against the wall and grabbed his battle rifle, ready for anything. Or so he thought. A long moment of disquieting tension passed as the ships drew closer. Finally, they stopped, coming to hover twenty feet over the ground maybe ten meters from the edge of the cracked landing pad. After a long moment, the sides of the bulbous ships opened.

A hell spilled out.

Trent couldn't believe what he was seeing. Even after all the shit he'd seen, after all the madness and blood and terror. The monsters and the horrors. This...this was just too weird. He watched in absolute, mind-numbing terror as giant spiders and scorpions dropped from the large cargo bays of the Black Ops ship.

They hit the ground and immediately began to advance on the base, making all kinds of horrible noises that sounded like the stuff of nightmares. Trent continued staring in paralyzed horror. It was the bark of machine-gun fire from above, Jorge, he imagined, that finally broke the spell. Trent aimed his battle rifle and fired.

For several seconds, there was nothing but the staccato rattle of gunfire, the screaming of the men and the sound of spent brass. And then it came, a cacophonous shriek of inhuman voices, rising up, infected with vicious pain and insane fury. Trent watched in unmitigated horror as he emptied his magazine and hastily reloaded: they bled black. Like tar or oil, gushes and sprays of black as night blood flew from their huge bodies.

Trent put the inhuman face of one of the spiders, a titanic brown tarantula, in his sights. He shuddered involuntary at the ugly crimson eyes that seemed lit from within, then squeezed the trigger. The three-round burst destroyed the face, causing the spider to topple over as plume of black gore flew from its face. He kept firing, staring in stark terror at the huge fangs, the gigantic, barbed stingers. The alien eyes.

Soon, the landing pad and the grassy field beyond it were littered with huge bug corpses and black gore. Trent knew that Jorge and N were up there doing most of the damage, spraying the battlefield with overlapping waves of turret fire. When the last bug fell, a deathly silence descended across the area. Trent realized that the ships had gone. Off to get more? What other nightmares were coming for them?

"Report," Trent said, his voice shaking slightly.

_"Good up here,"_ Jorge said over the short-wave. _"Everything looks dead. But we'll need a lot more ammo for these things, and probably a third one."_

"Alright...Banks, get that radio working. I have a feeling this is going to get a hell of a lot uglier before it gets better," Trent replied.

The men got to work.


	30. Them!

_**Chapter 30  
**-Them!-_

There were more ships on the way by the time they had more defenses set up. They had dug out the rocket launchers and grenades, setting them up for ease of access. Jorge had set up another machine gun turret on the roof and Banks was working as quickly as he could. From the progress he was making and the ships coming in, Trent knew that it was going to be a close thing. He was wondering what terror would be flying in this time around.

Abruptly, Banks called that he had it. Immediately, Trent began calling out to the _Deathstalker_. The response was swift.

_"Trent! Where the hell have you been?!" _Eric called.

"On the surface. We've got Jorge but we're holed up in an old outpost! Black Ops is here and they're dropping off giant bugs!" Trent replied.

_"...what?!"_

"You heard me!"

_"Shit! We've been in combat with some of their fighters, but we just managed to destroy the last one. I've got a lock on your position, we're inbound but it'll take a little bit to get there."_

"Shit, alright. Hurry up, we've got more of these assholes inbound!"

_"On it! Twenty minutes!"_

"Alright boys, listen up! We've got a pick up coming in! Twenty minutes!" Trent called.

There were a string of responses. Trent now had a rocket launcher in hand. There were three more nearby, already loaded up so he wouldn't have to pause to reload. He spied four bulbous, dark ships coming in low and fast. They were almost there. Overhead, Jorge, N and Banks were in position with their machine-gun turrets. Beside him, Blake and Chips were also wielding rocket launchers. The ships settled into position.

This time, it was ants and beetles.

The enormous beetles glistened in the sunlight, their carapaces, looking more like armor than anything else, were daunting. The ants began moving towards the base with a terrifying swiftness. The clacked their mandibles together angrily, antennae twitching violently as they sped on. Trent squeezed the trigger, loosing the first rocket in their most recent battle. It hit one of the beetles head on and the whole thing vaporized into a plume of black gore.

The war was on.

Chaos boiled around them. Trent fired the second rocket, striking in the midst of a trio of ants, sending them flying, limbs separating from their bodies. A beetle trundled up across the landing pad and was pushed back by a concentrated blast of turret fire. It clacked its mandibles angrily. Trent abandoned the first launcher and picked up a second, launching both rockets as quickly as he could. Before he knew it, the launchers were empty. Trent began hurling grenades from the box with as much speed and accuracy as he could muster.

Terror was alive and volatile in his body. Bugs were never meant to be this big. There was something fundamentally horrifying about seeing an ant the size of a horse. He reached for another grenade and found the crate he was using empty. He looked to see how much they'd killed and was shocked to see that maybe a quarter of the bugs had been put down. They were still coming, regrouping even, and making for the base.

Overhead, the trio of turrets droned on. Trent began loosing three-round bursts from his battle rifle, focusing on the ants, as it seemed the beetles were practically bulletproof. He glanced at his chronometer and saw that barely five minutes had passed. How were they going to survive this? Beside him, Chips and Blake were chipping away at the insect army. Trent emptied his rifle, reloaded and emptied another clip.

How long could they keep this up?

The battle raged on, the only sound being the rattling of gunfire and the clacking of mandibles. For a moment, just a moment, as he reloaded his battle rifle with the second to last clip, Trent thought that they might make it. Then, a horrible silence fell across the battlefield. The machine-gun turrets had fallen silent.

In a split second, Trent tossed together a plan.

"Fall back! Off the roof! Off the roof!" he screamed. "Get back deeper into the base!"

Everyone moved to comply instantly. Trent knew they had one crate of grenades left, unable to be gotten to in all the confusion. He had precious few seconds. Trent rushed over to the box, picked it up and dropped it at the windows. The ants and beetles were close now, and, horribly, he could see _even more _ships coming for them.

Trent grabbed one of the grenades, yanked the pin, dropped it back into the box and turned. He sprinted out of the lobby, moving as quickly as he could. When the explosion came, it picked him up and threw him the rest of the way down the corridor. He felt hands on him.

"Come on," Blake was saying. "Come on."

He was dragged back into the infirmary. As he got to his feet, he spied Jorge, N and Banks rushing in. Behind them, down the corridor that led to the lobby, sluggish shapes were moving, backlit by flames.

"Nice one," Banks said. "That really shook 'em up."

"I saw five more ships on the way in," Jorge said. "It's going to be one rough ride. How long until your ship gets here?"

"Six minutes," Trent replied grimly.

"Hope they've got an ace or ten up their sleeves."

Then there was no more time for talking, simply fighting. They'd been reduced to small-arms, assault rifles and shotguns mostly. The bugs were coming for them down the corridor. Trent was glad at least for that small miracle. It was a shooting gallery. Trent emptied his battle rifle, tossed the last of his grenades and put his shotgun to use. For a while, they were granted a bit of a reprieve. The bugs who had gone first blocked the corridor with their corpses. But it wasn't long before those behind them shoved through with sheer force.

Gunsmoke filled the air. Trent wasn't sure how long this was going to work out. He began looking for other ways out of the room. There was a back door, but they'd locked it down. A few windows, all locked down. Trent reloaded with his last eight shells and wondered just how they were going to get out of this one.

That's when it happened. Explosions ripped through the air from somewhere beyond the outpost, somewhere nearby. Everything rattled and shook, medical instruments were thrown from the shelves. Trent and the others kept firing, plugging away at the insects still coming in through the infirmary doorway.

But when those were put down, no more came through. Trent could hear heavy gunfire. The _Deathstalker_. They deactivated the emergency lockdown and Trent went out through the back. He stared into the sky and there it was: the _Deathstalker_, hovering low and almighty in front of the base, haloed by the crimson flames of whatever bombs it had released. A pair of miniguns were firing upon a single Black Ops dropship.

It abruptly fractured, began to lose altitude and then burst into flames. Trent let out a sigh of relief as the comm line crackled to life.

_"You owe me for this, I hope you know," _Jennifer said. Trent couldn't help but grin.

"Oh? What, exactly, do I owe?"

_"Get your ass onboard and I'll think of a few things."_

* * *

Trent felt better.

After finishing off the stragglers, Trent and the others had boarded the _Deathstalker_ and made for high orbit. He'd reported in with Childs right away, updating him on Jorge, Black Ops and their new killer toys. Childs was disturbed by the news, but glad that they had another Spartan Two on the team. Trent had also asked for some time off, a weekend at least, and Childs had informed him by a happy coincidence, Linda had finished up her assignment and he'd sent her to Earth. She was waiting for them State Side, on the east coast at some city with golden beaches and lots of sunshine. Childs felt that Trent might make just such a request.

After setting course for Earth, he and Jennifer had shared a shower and more. He'd taken a short nap and then insomnia had come back after him. He'd been tempted to take a hit of morphine, but curiosity got the better of him.

Now he slipped out into the corridor, leaving Jennifer nude and sleeping in their bed, and hit the call button on the dorm he'd given Jorge. There was a pause, then the door opened. Trent peered in. Jorge sat on a chair they'd taken from Enzo's room, as the regular chairs were too small for the enormous Spartan, staring into a computer screen.

"Hello," he said quietly.

"Hi...how you holding up?" Trent replied, stepping in and closing the door behind him.

"Overwhelmed," Jorge said simply. "I've been investigating the history I've lost. A whole year. Reach. The Halos. Earth. The Ark. The Flood. It's insane. And now I'm on a ship with three Elites. I've spoken with Childs."

"And?"

"I'd like to join you. I...have nothing else to do. No family. No home. I was created to fight, whatever the enemy. This...Black Ops seems like a worthy foe. And you and your allies have proven yourselves in combat." He paused a long moment, then, "I look forward to seeing Linda. It has been a long, long time since I've seen a fellow Spartan Two."

"Well, we're bound for Earth, where she is. We should be there in another day or so...have you ever had a vacation, Jorge?"

"Not really, no. But I've always contemplated trying one out. Either way, it will be good to see Earth again. It's been...too long. Much too long."

"Alright. Well, if you have any questions, just comm me. I think I'll try to get some more sleep," Trent said.

"I will. And...thank you, Trent."

"You're welcome."

Trent left Jorge sitting alone in front of his computer, then slipped back into his own cabin and roused Jennifer from her sleep.


	31. Relaxation

_**Chapter 31  
**-Relaxation-_

Earth.

How long had it been?

Trent watched rain bead on the window as they made their final descent on the city, a sprawling metropolis called Worthington somewhere middling in the east coast. He, Jennifer, Blake, Eric and Cann were seated in the sky taxi, being ferried down from the _Deathstalker_ and orbit. The others were distributed across four more. Trent had made sure everyone, his entire crew, was coming down with him.

He'd left the _Deathstalker_ in the capable hands of Childs's men, a skilled team of technicians intent on refitting, restocking and refueling the vessel. Childs told them that they had three days. He'd already given them all fresh bank accounts, filled with credits, and had them booked at a five star hotel. They took up the entire top floor.

Trent was really looking forward to this. He tried not to think of cold memories. Of his trips back up to space during the clean up, of Veronica. Missing her, their time together. Worthington was a city of gray, spread out before him as the small fleet of taxis made for the rooftop landing pads of the hotel they were staying at. Skyscrapers reached for the heavens like skeletal fingers cast in glass and steel, gleaming in the dying sunlight.

Local time put them at just past nine on a Friday night. A bonus, Trent supposed. They'd have all of Saturday, Sunday and Monday. The taxis would haul them back up to a high orbit Tuesday morning, and then the hunt was back on. But that was later.

"Hey, you okay?" Jennifer asked quietly. Trent glanced back at her.

"Yeah, I'm okay. It's just been a little while. Good to be reminded that this place isn't just a ball of glass. Guess it's just one of those 'almost stepped down an elevator shaft' moments, you know? When I think of how close we came..."

"I know," she whispered, laying her head on his shoulder. "I remember."

They flew on through the cold gray skies.

* * *

The hotel was nice. Beyond nice. Trent looked around the room he and Jennifer had taken. It was practically an apartment. They came into a broad living room stuffed with top-notch furniture, one wall taken up almost entirely by a holo-screen, another composed entirely of glass, staring out across the city. Trent found an enormous bedroom with a truly enormous bed. When he laid down on it, he instantly fought the urge to sleep. It was, by several magnitudes, the most comfortable bed he had ever slept in.

The bathroom was another story. It came complete with its own hot tub, three sinks of glaringly white porcelain, private toilet stalls and two showers.

"So...we've got three days, what should we do?" Jennifer asked. They hadn't brought anything with them. Trent reasoned that they could buy whatever they needed or, hell, have it bought for them by the hotel.

"Honestly? I just want to find some bolthole bar and drink," Trent replied. Jennifer laughed.

"I think we can talk a few of the guys into that."

* * *

They found a bar that exactly fit Trent's specifications. It was called the Chrome Dome. It was dim, smoky and quiet. Trent, Jennifer, Eric, Cann, Blake and Thorne all squeezed into a large corner booth and began drinking right as the sun was setting, painting the city in a gray haze. The rain was still falling. The rest of the crew had fractured, calving like an iceberg, heading into the neon network of city streets that when viewed from above resembled a circuit board or perhaps human anatomy. Trent tried to relax.

They all told stories as the minutes bled into hours. Trent, to his surprise and secret pleasure, was the star of the show. He recounted the stories of the Slender Man and Jason Voorhees. Of Earth, dropping into Voi and meeting Enzo. The Ark and the shadow thing beneath its halcyon surface. Eric told stories about hacking into UNSC databases and playing the occasional prank. About how this one Sergeant wouldn't quit screwing with him, so he doctored some transfer orders and got him sent to an abysmal little rock of a moon where it never stopped snowing.

They went on, all of them recanting stories of their time in the war, until today bled into tomorrow and the bar died the slow death of time as its customers left. Soon, Trent and the others were all that was left. Trent checked his watch and one point and was shocked to find it was pushing three in the morning. He became suddenly equal parts tired and horny, and decided to call it a night. They paid their bill and headed back to the hotel.

Trent was glad to find he could still hold his booze with the best of them. He was drunk, but retained his ability to speak and walk. They came back to the hotel and Trent rolled a joint before stripping down and hopping in bed with Jennifer. When they were done, he lit up the joint and they passed it back and forth between them.

"Where are we, Trent?" Jennifer asked abruptly after a prolonged silence.

"What?" he replied, startled. He'd been drifting off.

"We. Us. This thing we're doing. What do you think about it?"

"I...uh...I like it," he replied dumbly. Jennifer snorted.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to spring this on you. I don't want this to be a big relationship talk or something. I'm not...freaking out or anything. I'm really easygoing. I guess...well, to be honest, what brought this on was...I was thinking about that time we did it with Nadia." Trent glanced over.

"Oh?"

"Ha, I knew that'd get you interested. I dunno. Were you okay with that?"

"Yeah. I liked it. Why?"

"I dunno...I guess I was thinking I kinda wanted to do it again. Although I'm not sure if Nadia will go for it."

"Why?"

"Well...I mean, she's naturally a little shy. And I could tell right away she wanted to take you out for a test drive, shy or not. And you and me were already a thing. And I could tell she really liked it with you, but I think it was a little overwhelming. I think she'd just want you to herself."

"What about you? Were you just doing that for her benefit? Or mine?"

"No, not just for you two. If you haven't figured it out by now, I'm bi, with a preference for the ladies."

"Really? I just thought you were super-cool."

"I _am_ super-cool, asshole! Nadia, on the other hand...might have a bit of curiosity or a lot of tolerance."

"Yeah...you _were_ pretty into her. It was really nice."

"Yeah, it was...so, anyway, I was thinking maybe we could find someone else. I doubt Melissa would be down for it, and...wow, there really aren't any other girls on our team. Except Kiza..." A long moment of silence passed.

"Would, uh, you be cool with Kiza?"

"I admit, I _am_ curious, though the mechanics of girl-sex might be a little too awkward between me and an Elite...I dunno, maybe I could just watch."

"You'd really be okay with that?" Jennifer sighed.

"I'm not a super jealous kind of girl. I'm pretty open-minded, at least I like to think. So no, I wouldn't mind watching you bang Kiza."

"Awesome. I'll have a talk with them tomorrow." Trent yawned suddenly. He realized it was past five now. The sun would be up soon. Jennifer yawned, too.

"I think it's time for sleep," she said.

"Me too. But one thing...if you have a preference for women, why date me?" Jennifer heaved a weary sigh, then seemed to collect her thoughts.

"Before I got transferred to the _Deathstalker_, I was with a girl. I knew it was a bad idea. She was this technician, and despite being pretty good at her job...she was a big airhead. You'd think the military would weed these types out but, I guess not. She was new, hadn't served in the war. She was pretty shallow and liked to bullshit about those things stupid blondes like to bullshit about..."

"Why were you dating her?"

"That woman had the most perfect set of tits I've ever seen and _God_ the things she could do with her tongue...a drunken fling turned into kind of a regular thing. But she was kind of the end of a bit of a sore streak with women. I love women, but...holy crap, men are just so much..._easier_. At least in my experience."

"Good to know I'm easy," Trent replied. Jennifer rolled her eyes.

"Oh, you saying you aren't? God, I get shirtless and you're pretty much a sex slave. You'd do anything for these tits," she said. Trent laughed and curled up against her.

"I'm afraid you're right," he said. Then he yawned again.

"Okay, we're sleeping for real this time," she said, settling deeper into his grasp. Almost before he knew it, Trent was out.

* * *

The next day began somewhere around noon with a shower and a shot of adrenaline. The rain let up and Trent's day was spliced into a montage of relaxation. He went swimming in the ocean with Jennifer. He had lunch with Eric and Cann. He hung out with Enzo, Kiza and N. He went to a strip joint with Blake. Dinner was also had on the beach and Trent gathered nearly everyone at a private area where he, Eric and even Jared put together a great deal of BBQ in a couple of the grills. It was N's first time eating BBQ chicken.

Trent realized how important this whole thing was as the sun began heading for the far horizon. The effect it had on him was humanizing. He began to feel like a person again. Charging off into space and different planets over and over again to kill bad guys and monsters and aliens...he didn't realized just how insane it was. He was becoming numb to it. He hoped this would be enough to recharge him and get him through the rest of it.

It was near the end, when most of the others had either headed off into the city or back to the hotel, when Enzo found Trent standing at the edge of the surf.

"Hello, Trent," he said.

"Hey, Enzo. How you doing? I know this isn't exactly an Elite resort but I had hoped you'd enjoy yourself."

"I'm doing well, Trent. Do not worry yourself. I've been spending a lot of time with Kiza and getting to know N'tho. He's a prime example of a warrior. But I was hoping to speak with you about something."

"Oh?"

"Yes...you remember our last arrangement, between yourself and Kiza?"

"I will never forget it."

"Good, good. Well...we were considering a similar arrangement..."

"Really?"

"Yes. I...have developed an interest for something similar. I've managed to find a human woman willing to...experiment with me. And Kiza has expressed interest in trying it once more with you. Your last experience seemed to...please her."

"That's good to know. Actually, Jennifer was talking about trying to get an...experience in with Kiza once more, only this time she'd be involved."

"Hmm...interesting. Well, if you would like, I could talk with Kiza and have her come by your hotel room tonight, after we go back. I'm going to be heading into the city."

"That sounds good. I, uh...thanks for this. Really. It's still kind of weird to talk about this." Enzo smiled.

"Trent, you're my best friend in the entire galaxy. I don't mind sharing this with you."

"Thank you, Enzo," Trent replied, unsure of what else to say. Enzo stood with him for a little while longer, staring out across the seemingly infinite ocean, the waves washing across its surface like respiration. Finally, he left. Trent stood there for a while longer before Jennifer finally came up. She took his hand and laced their fingers.

"Everyone's heading out. I saw Enzo talking with you. What's up?" she asked.

"Well, it looks like you're going to get your wish. He said Kiza's down for a threesome," Trent replied.

"Really?! Awesome. When can we do it?"

"You are really excited about this."

"Well, duh! Aren't you?"

"Of course I am. Come on, we can head back to the hotel now."

Trent turned and saw she was right, no one was left on the beach. He and Jennifer began walking away from the ocean.

* * *

The rain was back. Trent watched it bead on the windows once more as he ascended towards space and the _Deathstalker_. Jennifer, Jared and Eric were riding with him. It had been a fantastic three days. Especially the night with Jennifer and Kiza. That had been...a new level of awesome. He'd managed to catch up with everyone on the ship and get a good feeling of where they were at. He'd concluded that they were all ready to take on Blacks Ops...

Whatever they might have waiting for them, out there in the darkness.


	32. Something in the Darkness

_**Chapter 32  
**-Something in the Darkness-_

Trent stepped into the cool, dim environs of the briefing room. The other Survivors had gathered and were sitting around the holo-projector where Childs stood. Trent took his seat and stared up at the holographic representation of their commander.

_"Now that you're all here..."_ he began, obviously annoyed. _"Something has come up. ONI has isolated what appears to be a heavily-encoded distress call coming from a very isolated region of space. We were lucky to pick it up. It's Black Ops and it's obviously only meant to picked up by other Black Ops. We managed to suppress it. I need you to get out there right now and get on that ship. Despite everything we've managed to piece together so far, we're still far short on information. A lot of the data you've managed to recover _is_ useful, but redundant. The more information we can gather at this point, the better,"_ Childs explained.

"Alright, we'll get right on it. Anything else?" Trent replied.

_"Not really. We're kind of flying blind on this one. I'm not even sure what model the ship is, what kind of armament it has, crew...so, have fun with that."_

"Yeah. Plan on it." Trent cut the feed and looked around, considering his options. The others looked back at him, waiting. Finally, he nodded slightly to himself, coming to a decision.

"Alright. Eric, Enzo and Jorge will accompany me to the ship. I want Cann, Melissa, Kiza and Linda on standby." He keyed the intercom. "Jennifer, how long until we get to where we're going?" he asked.

_"Twenty hours."_

"Alright. Once we get there, be ready for anything."

_"I'm always ready for anything."_ Trent considered this for a moment. He glanced at Kiza, who smiled at him.

"Yeah, I guess I have to agree with that assessment." He closed the link. Cann glanced at him, then at Kiza, then back at him.

"Wait, _again_?!" he demanded. Trent shrugged. Cann slammed his fist back on the intercom. "Really, Jennifer? Really!?"

_"Really WHAT?!"_ she snapped.

"What's going on?" Nauls asked.

"Oh, lord," Melissa moaned, massaging her temples. "What's going on is that we live on a ship of amoral whores." Trent began laughing.

"Says the girl who slept with me within five minutes of meeting me," he replied.

_"Yeah, seriously. Get over yourself, bitch,"_ Jennifer added. Cann began laughing as well.

"I've heard of this," Kiza said.

"Oh, don't _even_ start," Melissa snapped. "I can't even begin to describe how wrong it is that you and Trent had sex, _twice_ apparently. And apparently Enzo is okay with this! _God_!"

"I'm okay with this," Enzo agreed.

"Holy _shit_, can we please focus?!" Trent screamed. "We're going to _die_ if we don't get our shit together!" Silence fell across the room. Finally, Jennifer stood up.

"Fine, whatever. I'm going to go get ready." She left. Slowly, the others rose and began to file out. Before he could leave, Trent asked Nauls,

"What's her problem? She wasn't like this before." Nauls shifted uncomfortably, seeming to consider his words.

"She...I think she feels bad about you. And what happened between the two of you. I think that...well, this is a little awkward, but I think that she wished she would have made the decision to stick with one guy when you were in her life. And now she has to be reminded of leaving you in the dust," he explained.

"Wow. Well, that sucks."

"Yeah, tell me about it. It would be really awesome for me if you could lay off her, huh?" Nauls asked.

"I can do that," Trent replied. Nauls thanked him and left. Trent lingered alone in the briefing room for several moments. Something didn't feel right. He had no idea what, there wasn't exactly anything obviously wrong. And yet...

Finally, he shrugged it off and headed for the onboard gym.

* * *

Twenty hours came and went. Trent spent a few of them working out, then showered off and took a nap. He woke up and wandered around the ship, talking to the crew, (avoiding Melissa), and just generally catching up. He found that Jorge and Linda were indeed spending a lot more time together and, if he didn't know any better, would have suspected them of perhaps being in a tentative relationship.

The time finally came. Trent and the others suited up as they came out of slipspace and made for the derelict vessel. Trent slipped into his armor and grabbed a pair of pistols, a shotgun, a cocktail of grenades and extra ammo. Jorge, Eric and Enzo were decked out in their own armor. Jorge had selected a new suit of bulky armor that was painted a striking red and black, his visor opaque and electric blue.

He grabbed a huge hand-held turret with a belt-fed box of ammunition that he attached to his armor and glanced Trent.

"That minigun...is definitely you," Trent said. Jorge chuckled.

"I have to admit, it feels good to be back in action," he replied.

They filed out of the armory and made for the airlock. By the time they got there, Jennifer was closing in on the ship. Trent patched into the ship's internal comms network.

"How are we doing?" he asked.

_"Good. I'm getting no communications readings, the engines are cold, there's some kind of explosives damage along the left side of the hull that runs down to the engines. As for life signs...well, something is interfering with them. I can't get a clear reading," _Jennifer replied. Trent sighed heavily as he and the others filtered into the airlock.

"Fantastic. Be ready for anything, everyone. Cann, is your crew ready on standby?"

_"Yeah. We've all just finished gearing up. We're ready to help you out. Just give us the call,"_ Cann replied.

"Excellent. Alright, here we go."

Trent keyed the airlock. They all just barely fit in there. The airlock made creepy noises as it cycled through its filtration process. Trent waited awkwardly at the head of the group, his shotgun raised and ready for anything. They were heading into hostile territory and unhappy about it. Walking into an unknown situation was about as fun as it sounded. The airlock finished and the door opened. They moved into the Black Ops airlock and cycled through it. The final door opened, Trent readied himself for anything.

What he found was an anti-climax. Just an empty locker room. Trent headed out, the others backing him up. They moved quickly and quietly through the locker room and into a corridor beyond. Trent froze.

"Whoa...holy shit," he whispered. The corridor was littered with corpses. Men in black armor and black jumpsuits. Blood was sprayed across the walls and pooled on the floor. Trent moved cautiously over to the nearest one and crouched by it. He began checking it over, but could see right away what had happened: someone had shoot the poor bastard in the face with something particularly powerful.

A few more investigations revealed more of the same.

"All of these guys were killed by bullets and knives," Jorge murmured.

"What the hell is going on here?" Trent said, standing back up. He noticed Eric had found a console and had hooked into it already. The tech glanced over at him.

"Local network is down but I managed to find a map. It's a straight shot from here to the bridge, just a long walk is all."

"Alright...let's get there. Keep an eye out. Watch your motion-trackers," Trent replied.

They set out, making their way down the lengthy corridor cast in blood and steel. There had to be closet to fifty bodies stretched the length of the passageway, all slaughtered and left where they had fallen. Trent found the amount of blood and death unsettling, even after all he had endured. Perhaps it was because it had apparently been done by a human. Not a monster, not an alien, not some lethal entity from beyond the stars...

Just a human. At least, that's what Trent assumed.

As they walked on, Trent began to feel as though they were being watched. No, worse than that: they were being stalked, hunted by someone. He had nothing on his motion tracker, heard nothing but those around him. There was no actual, physical evidence to support this, and yet there it was. He was absolutely convinced that they were being hunted. From the way they moved, he could tell the others felt the same way.

They reached the bridge without incident. It wasn't even locked down. Eric opened the door and Trent and Enzo led the way while Jorge and Eric kept watch from behind. The bridge was in no better condition than the rest of the ship they'd seen so far. Most of the crew seats were still filled with crewmen...only they were dead. Even the captain sat dead with his throat slit in the chair. Eric went for the database.

"This is a bad place," Enzo murmured.

"I agree," Jorge growled. "Someone is watching us. Something is wrong here, besides the obvious."

"Yeah, I agree...let's just check out the database, then get back to the ship and pull back to a good safe distance. This is all getting a little weird," Trent replied. A few moments passed in an uncomfortable, tension-laden silence. It was broken abruptly by Eric's exasperated sigh.

"Shit!" he snapped.

"What? What's wrong?" Trent replied.

"It's gone. All gone. Whole database is completely wiped out. Trent, this is really starting to feel like a trap."

"Yeah, I think we should..."

Trent was abruptly aware of the fact that someone else had entered the room. He spun around, raising the shotgun. The others moved abruptly too. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Trent was wondering furiously how the guy had slipped past their defenses, especially the technological ones, while simultaneously trying to get a bead on him with his shotgun. The guy was dressed in black armor, covered from head to toe in it. It looked sleek and very thin. He almost seemed like a mechanic insect, staring at them with glass eyes.

When he moved, it was _fast_. Trent squeezed the trigger about the same time Enzo and Jorge did. No bullets hit the lithe armored figure. It moved with an impossible grace, dodging and then darting forward towards Trent. He began to move right as the figure reached him and slammed into him with its shoulder, hitting him square in the chest and sending him flying across the bridge and slamming into the far wall.

Trent surged to his feet, gasping for breath. He saw a blur of movement as the figure whipped out a pistol, turned and fired twice on Enzo's and Jorge's position. Both of them grunted in shock and pain. Trent had lost his shotgun. He tore his pistol out, aimed...then it happened. The figure pulled out another small device and gestured with it. A small blade of pure blue energy sprang to life. He turned as Trent drew a bead and stabbed Eric directly in the gut. Trent squeezed the trigger. The figure's helmeted head snapped over.

The bullet took him right in the neck. The armor was thin, and good, but not good enough. Blood sprayed. The figure staggered. Eric fell to his knees and then collapsed, his hands clasped around his guts.

"_Eric_!" Trent heard himself shriek. He continued firing, moving closer, but already the figure was rushing away. He was gone, off the bridge, in a second. Trent rushed to Eric's side, falling to his knees.

"I need help. Right now. He cut something bad," Eric groaned.

"Shit...shit...alright! Enzo, help me!" he snapped. The Elite and Jorge lurched over. Both were sporting wounds of their own.

"Christ, who the hell is this guy!?" Trent cried. The bullets had gone through the armor. Enzo had taken a gutshot, Jorge a shot in the chest, startlingly close to his heart. Trent and Enzo got Eric up while Jorge led the way. Trent called up their ship.

"Jennifer! Emergency! Goddamn emergency! Have Thorne and Cann and the other medics waiting for us at the airlock!" he screamed.

_"Alright! What the shit is going on over there!? I'm reading some kind of energy build up from the engines! They've come back to life!"_ Jennifer replied.

"What? Shit! What kind of buildup?!" Trent snapped. They were hurrying down the passageway now, making for the airlock. There was no sign of the mysterious assassin.

_"If it keeps going the way it is, it's going to blow."_

"Oh, God," Trent moaned.

They stumbled on.


	33. Flee

_**Chapter 33  
**-Flee-_

The first indication that Trent had that something was nightmarishly wrong was when the ship began to tremble violently. It became so violent, in fact, that he lost his footing and he and Eric went sprawling among the corpses. Eric groaned.

"Sorry!" Trent snapped, crawling to his feet.

"Bombs are going off," Jorge said.

"Shit! Shit! Let's move it!" Trent grabbed Eric, who was teetering on the brink of unconsciousness now. They hurried on as the ship continued to rumble around them. Distantly, Trent could hear the vacuum suck of a cracked hull and the dead icy fingers of open space reaching in. They struggle on as quickly as they could. Trent could see the airlock up ahead. Eric was a dead weight by the time they reached it.

"Is he still alive?" Enzo asked as they hurried into the first airlock.

"I don't know," Trent growled.

_"What the hell is going on over there?!"_ Jennifer cried.

"Bombs! It's a huge goddamn trap!" Trent snapped. "Just be ready to pull away as fast as possible!"

_"I'm preparing for slipspace jump right now."_

They cycled through the first airlock and hustled into the second, then began to wait for its maddeningly long cycling process. After what felt like an eternity, there was a sharp chirp and the door opened. They dragged Eric out into the locker room beyond and found Thorne, Cann, Ash and Anderson were waiting for them. More Survivors hovered in the doorway. Thorne and Cann dropped to their knees and cracked open their medkits, immediately going to work on Eric. Ash and Anderson each began trying to get a look at Jorge and Enzo.

"Jennifer, go!" Trent cried.

_"I'm gone!"_ He felt the rumbling begin to subside as they broke off from the Black Ops ship. _"There's a shuttle coming out of the other ship!...It's going to slipspace! Away from us!"_

"Forget him! We need to get the hell out of here or we're going to die!" Trent snapped. He felt the telltale rumble of slipspace and then, almost immediately.

_"Oh shit!" _Jennifer snapped.

"What?! What is it!?" Trent felt his heart skip a beat in his chest.

_"Something's wrong with the slipspace drive! I had to drop back out!"_

"Did we get clear of the Black Ops ship?"

_"Well, it just blew and we're so here so yeah. But something's wrong with _our _engines...oh shit!"_

"What?!"

_"Our engines are overloading __now! I'm trying to...shit! Goddamnit! I can't shut them down! They're going to blow! We've got to get to the pods, Trent!"_

"Goddamnit!" Trent snapped. "Shit! Give the call!" He looked at Thorne and Cann. "Get him ready to move to the pods!" Thorne's head snapped up.

"We can't move him! He's goddamn guts are coming out!"

"_The ship is going to blow_!" Trent screamed. Thorne cursed, grabbed a can of biofoam, shoved it into Eric's exposed guts and emptied it.

"Help me!" he snapped. Overhead, Jennifer's voice intermixed with alarms, calling for an evacuation.

"Go!" Trent screamed at the others. He began to help with Eric. The others took off. Cann hung around for a few seconds longer. "_Go_, Cann! _Now_!" he screamed. The medic finally bolted. Trent and Thorne got Eric up, supporting his biofoam-sealed stomach as best they could. They stumbled through the familiar corridors of the ship they were about to lose. Trent only prayed that they managed to get off of it alive.

They moved through the corridors, the central lounge, past the messhall and the infirmary. Thorne grunted and sweated with tension and effort as they hauled Eric through the corridor. The ship had already begun to tremble. They all but crashed into the pod bay, where they just caught sight of Enzo and Kiza slipping into a pod and smashing out. Trent took a quick inventory. There were two pods left. One was empty, one was almost full. Trent helped Thorne get Eric into the empty one and then slipped back out.

"Where are you going!?" Thorne demanded.

"I've got to make sure everyone's off!" Trent roared. He found a terminal and fired up the LifeScan. A few seconds later he relaxed slightly as he realized everyone else was on the second to last pod, which had just launched. Just him, Thorne and Eric. He all but dove back into the pod and into the cockpit. He fired it up and blew out.

"How's he doing!?" Trent demanded. The pod jettisoned. He saw the others up ahead, motes against the stars.

"He's _dying_!" Thorne screamed.

"Well _save him_!"

"I'm trying! When's the ship going to-"

An explosion tore through space, hit the pod and sent Trent's head slamming against the console. His world was instantly consumed in black.


	34. Reconstruction

_**Chapter 34  
**-Reconstruction-_

Trent jerked awake and stared up at Thorne, who didn't look all that concerned and was instead staring out of a porthole window. Trent groaned and Thorne glanced down.

"What happened?"

"You were knocked unconscious. And something's wrong," Thorne replied. He sounded tired. Trent sat up, groaning again as a sharp lance of pain tore through his head.

"What's wrong?" he asked. Thorne reached beside him and came back with a hypo. He handed it to Trent.

"Here. Painkillers," he said. Trent took it and injected himself. Immediately he felt relief flooding his veins. He abandoned the hypo, rubbing his neck. He felt that there was something he was forgetting, something crucial...

His eyes fell on Eric.

"Eric!" He sat up.

"He's dead," Thorne said flatly. "He didn't make it. Lost too much blood."

Trent stood up in the narrow confines of the escape pod. He stumbled over to Eric's body. His helmet was off. Even before he reached out to check his pulse, he could see the flesh had gone almost pure white. He checked anyway and found the flesh cold. A wave of unreality hit him right then. He sat down on the floor as his legs lost their ability to support him. He felt dislocated, almost as though he were floating free of his own body.

Eric Staccato was dead.

"You've been out for almost twenty hours," Thorne said quietly. The sound of a Zippo being struck echoed inside the pod. Trent smelled nicotine. "I took these from your suit," he added. "Here." Thorne lit up a second one and handed it to Trent, who accepted the Yeheyuan without comment, instead smoking it silently as he continued staring at Eric's body.

How could he be dead?

Trent had seen death before. How many times? Dozens. Hundreds. Maybe more by now. So why was this such a big deal? Because Eric had been a solid friend in a long, long line of let downs. Because they were supposed to be invincible. Because Survivors were never meant to die. They had the law of the universe on their side. The only law that really mattered: luck. How could this have possibly happened?

"Do you still want to know what's wrong?" Thorne asked.

"Yes," Trent replied quietly.

"By the time I got to the cockpit the other escape pods were gone. In fact, it was all gone. No debris even. Just gone. I activated the emergency distress beacon and someone picked it up. A cruiser patrolling in the area. I haven't had any contact with them yet, except for confirmation of the beacon and the fact that they're on their way. I think our comms are busted," Thorne explained. Trent was silent for a long moment.

"So what happened to the other pods?" he asked finally.

"I have no idea. We've got about half an hour before the ship gets here and then we get things...sorted out."

Trent said nothing and continued smoking, his gaze unwavering on Eric's unmoving features.

* * *

The cruiser came and picked them up. The pod was taken into one of the huge bays and Trent and Throne exited immediately. The Captain, a man who identified himself as Hollenbeck, was waiting for them.

"I'm Specialist Trent Temple with ONI, I need access to a comms array immediately," Trent said. The Captain hesitated briefly, then nodded. He turned and began leading them out of the bay and through the ship.

"You say you're Trent Temple?" he asked.

"Yes."

"I...see."

"Is something wrong?" The Captain paused for a moment.

"Well...it's just that we had you listed as MIA. There was an extensive search for you, Eric Staccato and Doctor Thorne that lasted for nearly a month before they finally gave it up. Where the hell have you been?" Trent stopped right then.

"A _month_?!" he asked.

"Yeah."

"What's the date?"

"It's January third, twenty five fifty four."

"Oh, shit," Trent groaned.

"I was wondering if something like that had happened..." Thorne murmured. They resumed walking and remained silent until they reached the bridge. Trent found a comms terminal and plugged into it, working as quickly as he could to call up Childs. It took nearly five minutes before Childs's head and shoulders appeared on the monitor.

_"I swear to God, if this is another false alarm or even a goddamn prank-oh shit, it is you, Trent...Where the hell have you been!?"_ Childs snapped.

"In my escape pod. If I'm putting the pieces together right, we experienced a time dilation similar to what Jorge went through. Eric's dead."

_"Well, just get back here-what?"_

"Eric's dead. I assume you know by now that it was a trap. Do we know who that was?"

_"Jesus...shit...all we know about him is his name. Razor. He's an assassin that works for Black Ops. We've encountered him a few times since...listen, big things are happening. The biggest so far...a lot has happened since you've been gone. Get back to Earth right now, pronto. I was just gathering some forces, heading for the front finally. I'll need you. I assume Thorne is with you?"_

"Yeah. He made it. What's been happening? Where are the others?"

_"I'll update you in person."_

"Alright. But look, whatever's happening...I want a funeral for Eric. On Earth. Even a short and small one." Childs looked ready to protest, but he sighed quietly.

_"Alright...fine. I'll have it ready. Out here."_

The screen went blank. Trent stared at his grim, pale reflection for a long time before finally standing up. He needed things: a shower, a meal, some sleep. But first he had to go see that Eric was put into a proper coffin.

* * *

By the time they reached Earth, Trent had been checked out by a medic, given a clean bill of health and oversaw the funeral dressings for Eric. He hadn't cried, hadn't felt much of anything since the revelation had hit. He told himself it was because Eric wouldn't want him to waste time on mourning when there were Black Ops to be killed, but the hard truth was that he was in shock. Like breaking a limb, his body had sent him into shock to protect him from the worst of the pain. Trent wasn't sure how to feel about it.

On his way there, he killed a full pack of Yeheyuans and a whole bottle of vodka the Captain had kept stashed in his quarters. When they were almost there, Trent took a purge pill and pissed most of his drunken state out.

As soon as they had settled into a high orbit, a Pelican took Eric, Thorne and Eric's coffin to groundside. At the base, they were loaded into a Cargo Hog and driven to a military graveyard two kliks away. He found Childs and Childs alone at the graveyard, standing near a freshly dug grave. Trent, Thorne, Childs and the driver of the Hog carried the coffin quietly beneath dark gray skies. It began to rain as they lowered Eric into the cold earth.

Trent vowed to have a more thoroughly burial at a later date, but a small though powerful part of him knew that he needed this. Before he went racing off into the darkest darkness once again, he desperately needed something like this. They each grabbed a shovel and filled in the hole, working for a long time in the frigid rain before it was filled, the earth packed down.

"Wait for me in the Hog," Trent said quietly.

The three turned and walked away without a word. Trent stared at the freshly milled earth for what felt like a very long time. There was a newly carved headstone that simple had Eric's name, date of birth and of death. Trent noted with a vague interest that it reflected the time schism, putting Eric's death at roughly six months ago. Trent thought he might say something, but in the end he just put his hands in his pocket, turned and walked away.

* * *

As soon as they entered the bay of Childs's ship, the _Wrath_, it dropped into slipspace. Trent and Thorne were lead through the bustling ship until they came to a cool, dim briefing room. Trent lit up a fresh Yeheyuan and dropped tiredly into his seat.

"Where's the others?" he asked.

"Omega Halo," Childs replied, taking his seat at the head of the table. Thorne sat down next to Trent, who stared up with a flicker of interest at Childs.

"What?"

"In the six months that you've been gone, honestly, not much has happened. Black Ops was exposed little by little, hitting bases and ships. We had more clashes with that assassin of yours, but, thankfully, he didn't manage to kill anyone else. Your team has been hunting Black Ops ever since they were torn away from searching for you, Eric and Thorne. The big break finally happened about two days ago.

"Humanity has been toying around with the idea of investigating the Halos. We finally got to it, heading for one of the larger ones we called Omega Halo. Bases have been established, a small fleet of ships moved into orbit just in case anything...unpleasant was waiting. The Elites have been helping. Then, roughly forty eight hours ago, Black Ops hit Omega Halo full force. Smashed through the fleet and landed huge teams all over the Halo. The Survivors had been there for nearly a day, seriously slowing them down, but they're pulling out all the stops. I'm getting insane reports of all manner of bad guys being sprinkled across every battlefield.

"They're making their play now. Whatever it is. We still don't know. But I was here gathering up a fresh force before heading off. It was pure luck you showed up when you did. Our delay has, luckily, managed to get another dozen and a half battleships on my side. So...basically, this is it. This is the showdown. This is where we kill Black Ops and figure out what the hell they've been doing this whole time. Any questions?"

Trent shook his head.

"No...just get me my suit, an arsenal and a ship. And let me go once we hit Omega Halo," he replied, stubbing out the cigarette on the table top.

"That's the rough idea," Childs replied.

Trent nodded, stood and left the room.

It was time for murder.


	35. Omega Halo

_**Chapter 35  
**-Omega Halo-_

Trent was suited up. He listened to the radio chatter while he waited in his pod. Being around people wasn't something he felt like doing at the moment. He'd seen Thorne once before gearing up. The doctor had wanted to make sure one more time that he was physically okay, but Trent knew that he really just wanted to make sure Trent wasn't losing it. For a moment, he thought about New Mombasa, about his imagined squad and about Kyra. They had all been triggered by particularly brutal psychological events.

He prayed that something like that wouldn't happen again. But that was the problem with human psychology, wasn't it? There were no set standards, there wasn't a list of shit to do in case of mental breakdown. Sure, he'd had access to the best current technology had to offer...but still. There was always that lingering doubt, that uncertainty that he'd never gotten shit squared away one hundred percent.

The radio chatter spiked. They had dropped out of slipspace, ripping back into sub-space. It seemed that the situation in orbit over the ring was mostly in control. Trent activated the screen in his drop pod and called up a view of the ring. It sent chills down his spine, floating there in space against a backdrop of frozen space and distant stars. He'd never personally visited one of the Halos, but the Ark had been plenty.

Their ship was closing in on the ring. Trent didn't actually know where he was going. Childs said he'd give him an update on the situation and a destination not long after they arrived. Trent had imposed his own isolation, merely waiting. It had been nearly an hour. Abruptly, his radio clicked to life.

_"Trent, there's a lot going on down there, but I the quickest thing I could find is a friend of yours. Blake. He's on the surface, bogged down in Combat against...good Christ, against a contingent of the Undead. He and his squad are in danger of being overrun, making for an extraction point. I'm sure he'd appreciate your help. I'm programming in the coordinates to your pod now. Good luck."_

"Noted," Trent replied as he punched out.

* * *

Burning through the atmosphere again. How many times had he been here? Trent thought about Blake as he watched Omega Halo unfold before him. It had only been mere days to Trent, but Blake had lived in a world where he thought that Trent had been dead for six months now. How would he react to the sudden reinsertion? How would any of them? He realized that he hadn't really thought of Jennifer until just now. How would she handle it? Had she started dating someone else? Given her nature, it seemed very likely.

The cloud cover broke and Trent was given a bleak view of a gray landscape saturated in rain. He was zeroing in on a bleak battlefield. He could see the telltale blooms of explosives and the tracers from gunfire. Trent worked a nav marker to the extraction point and saw it about a klik and a half to the north. He fired up his radio.

"Blake, this is Trent Temple. I'm coming down and offering backup," he said.

_"What!?"_ Blake replied after a long moment.

"I survived. Caught in a time dilation, like Jorge. Eric's dead. I'm coming to help," Trent replied succinctly. There was no time for Blake to respond as Trent's pod smashed into a collection of undead creatures and crushed those it didn't send flying. Trent hit the punch-out button and the front half of the pod blew out, smashing into a pair of Zombies and sending them flying. He grabbed his SAW and shotgun, then emptied a full clip into a rampaging Berserker that was making its way right for him. He stitched a bloody path up its chest to its head.

The thing crashed to the ground a few feet short of Trent's pod. He reloaded and hopped out onto the grim, rocky ground. Mountains beset him on all side. The landscape was spare and awash in a sea of decayed flesh. Up ahead, Trent spied the small party of survivors, no doubt being led by Blake. Trent hurried away from his smashed pod, swapping out his weapons and pumping shell after shell into any undead horror that got close enough.

He emptied the gun and reloaded, punching holes through chests and blowing off heads in plumes of black gore. Something shrieked nearby and jumped him. Trent rolled as he hit the ground, swinging his shotgun around and blocking away the awful mask of sickly white horror that the Creeper atop him wore. He shrugged the corpse off and hopped to his feet, only to find himself staring up at the unholy face of another Berserker.

He raised his shotgun. The Berserker prepared to attack. Then the top half of it exploded, the force of the blast knocked Trent back on his ass. As the corpse fell away, a new figure walked through the smoke. A black-armored hand was out-thrust.

"You're a real asshole, I hope you know that," Blake said. Trent took his hand and was hauled to his feet. They started running.

"It's not my fault! The goddamned slipspace engine screwed my personal time-space continuum!" Trent replied.

"Oh, give me a break!" They met back up with the other survivors: a dozen grim-faced men in blooded green Ballistics armor. Trent checked the HUD, the extraction point was just over a full klik away.

They started running.

Trent felt that old adrenaline-fueled madness settling nicely into his psyche. He burned through shell after shell, blowing limbs and heads off of the Zombies as they rushed at the handful of survivors. They were a mobile island of determination in an ocean of ashen flesh and crimson eyes. Trent emptied his shotgun by the time they reached the halfway point to the extraction point. He tossed his grenades over his shoulder in quick succession in higher arcs each time, buying them some breathing room as they pressed on.

"How the hell did you get yourself in this situation!?" Trent cried.

"I'm here on a rescue mission, asshole!" Blake snapped. "A pair of Pelicans were shot down a few kliks back. I came in to rescue them with some Yellowjackets. Fought to the crash site, lost the Yellowjackets rescuing these guys. My Pelican was overrun and destroyed. They sent in another one by at a safer distance!"

"Fan-freaking-tastic!"

Trent squeezed the trigger on his SAW and didn't let go until it clicked dry. He reloaded and kept firing. By the time he was down to his last clip of ammo, the Pelican was in sight. A pair of Helljumpers were stationed on its back ramp, which was down. They were picking off targets from a distance with battle rifles. Trent took stock of the situation. Only two of the Marines had fallen during their hard run.

They reached the extraction zone and hustled into the Pelican. Trent knew that there were too many onboard, but the back ramp began closing anyway and the Pelican took off. Trent shouldered his way through the survivors as the ship gained altitude and sped away from the kill zone. He stepped into the cockpit.

"What's our destination?" he asked, staring out at the bleak, rainy landscape.

"Headquarters. It's about sixty kliks up-spin."

"Can you put me in contact?"

"Sorry. Comms are really screwy. There's a lot going on." Trent sighed, thanked him and slipped back out into the crowded cargo hold. He found Blake waiting for him. Trent pulled out his pack of Yeheyuans and lit one up, then passed one to Blake.

"Hey...you gotta spare?" one of the Helljumpers asked. Some of the Marines glanced up at him as well. Trent gave the packet over and watched it get passed around the interior. When it came back to him, there was just a quarter left. He shrugged and pocketed the pack.

"So what's been up?" he asked.

"Lots, man. Well, a lot of nothing punctuated by brief periods of insanity. You know, the usual. It's been grim, though. With you gone...I guess no one really knew how good of a leader you were. Cann stepped up and tried to be point man, but it didn't really work out. Enzo picked up the slack after that. Childs got us another ship and most of the crew came back. Jennifer didn't. She left...then she came back after a month. I guess Childs talked her back into it...how did Eric die?" Blake replied. Trent sighed and blew a smoke ring.

"His wounds. Thorne just couldn't save him. We were stuck in that damned pod..." Trent felt himself going somewhere dark and purposefully turned his thoughts away. "How's the crew? The Survivors?" he asked. Blake shrugged.

"Okay, I guess. Enzo and Kiza are still good. Jorge and Linda have a thing going now. It's weird but it's kind of obvious they have _something_ going on. They don't admit to it, but they don't exactly deny it, either. Jared and Cann have become pretty good friends. I guess they're a lot alike. Whenever we get leave, they head out for bars and brothels. Melissa and Nauls are still together. There was a little while there where it looked...bad. I think you dying really screwed Melissa up."

"What about Jennifer? She seeing anyone?"

"Well...uh..." Blake seemed distinctly uncomfortable.

"What?"

"We had a...thing. I...wow, this is awkward. She hung around for a few weeks, trying to make it work, but right before she quit, she...came to visit me. It just kind of happened...you know? The next morning she was really awkward about it. I think it was why she quit. I...I'm sorry. It's just you were..."

"Dead. Don't worry about it, Blake. It's not a big deal."

Trent tried to play it smooth, but neither of them spoke the rest of the way back. They simply smoked and waited.

* * *

HQ looked like a bunch of Humanity tacked onto a large Forerunner building, an awkward amalgamation of metal and technology. The Pelican landed and Trent headed out into the sunshine. There was no rain here, just emerald hills and trees and sunlight. Blake followed him as he plunged through the crowds and into the base. Marines and technicians spilled across the landing pads and crowded in the corridors.

After a few moments of navigation, Trent found a control center, grabbed the highest ranking official he could find and pulled himself. His name was Anderson, his was a Sergeant Major.

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded.

"Trent Temple, ONI Specialist. I'm here on authority from ONI. I'm looking for other Specialists? Any around?" he asked.

"Temple...oh, hell. Childs said you'd be coming. Yes. There are two more. They're waiting for you two in Briefing Room Six."

He rattled off some quick directions. Trent and Blake plunged back into the network of ambient-lit corridors and found Kiza and Cann waiting for them in a dimly lit briefing room.

"Well, I thought Childs was pulling my leg, but holy shit, here he is," Cann said. He was grinning broadly, his helmet on the table in front of him, smoking a fat cigar. Kiza rushed up to Trent, wrapped him in a hug and picked him off of the ground. Trent groaned, feeling the intense pressure of her arms even through his armor.

"It is genuinely good to see you, Trent," she said quietly, letting him back down. Trent chuckled.

"Has it ever been not genuine?" he replied. Kiza laughed easily.

"I have also missed your smartass humor," she replied.

"That is a new word for you. I don't think I've _ever _heard an Elite say 'smartass' before."

_"Can we please get to work?"_ Childs voice came from hidden speakers. His image appeared in the center of the table, a holographic projector. The four of them sat down. _"Right now, you four at the closest I have to expects on killing Black Ops. We've just discovered the location of the Cartographer. And Black Ops is already heading there. I've got a small army of Elites moving in, and I want you there to help them. We need that Cartographer. From there we can get to the Control Room and have more control over this situation."_

"Where are the others?" Trent asked.

_"Busy dealing with Black Ops,"_ Childs replied. _"There's a Pelican waiting out on the pad for you four. Get to it. Out."_ The image died. Trent glanced at Cann.

"He's in a bad mood," Cann muttered.

"Just like the old days, huh?" Trent replied as they filed out.

"Yeah, old days. How long has it been for you? Because it was like six months for us."

"Just a few days," Trent replied.

* * *

They flew over the lands and seas of Omega Halo. Halfway to the Cartographer, they met up with a small fleet of Phantoms. Trent was excited. He found the combat to be soothing. The action forced him to act and let him free himself from thought and emotion. He'd managed to get restocked on ammo, swapping out his SAW for a battle rifle, preferring the precision. They were nearly to the Cartographer now.

Trent had picked up a bit more information about the Cartographer. Apparently, it was inside of an underground installation in the middle of a snowy wasteland. The only way in was a Forerunner structure built in the middle of a large forest. The plan was simple: do a few strafing runs, drop in from the Phantoms and lone Pelican, shoot the crap out of everyone and storm the compound. Trent liked the plan. It was simple.

The simpler the plan, the less likely it was going to screw up. Of course, even the simplest plans had a way of going horribly, wretchedly wrong when a lot of tough guys with guns were involved. Trent felt the Pelican begin to vibrate as the minigun mounted on the nose was fired. They were making the attack.

He did one more check on his suit and weapons, found them up to snuff and readied himself for the coming slaughter. The Pelican swung around and made one more strafing run, then began a rapid descent. Trent undid his straps and stood, as did the others. They were all silent, all ready for what was coming next.

The Pelican hit dirt and the back ramp opened. Trent charged out into the snow and smoke. Huge pillars of billowing black ash drifted into the air. Black-armored corpses were spread out everywhere. Plasma scarring and blood stained the freshly fallen snow. Several trees had fallen, crushing vehicles and men alike. The survivors were regrouping in and around the structure. Trent immediately began sighting them and putting them down, squeezing the trigger as quickly as he could while making for cover.

Half the Elites joined him and his squad in providing cover fire while the other half rushed forward with energy blades. Trent thought the attack was going well. Within minutes, the troops on the ground were put down, one way or the other. All that was left was those on and in the structure. It was a large slab of gleaming silver metal dotted with broken out windows and a large front door that had been closed.

As the last trooper fell, a half dozen Elites rushed towards the main door. They were all wielding swords. Trent and the small army of Elites provided cover fire, putting bullets into any of the windows showing Black Ops troops. The Elites reached the door. Five of them provided watch while the sixth knelt by a light-pad next to the door. Several seconds passed in an uncomfortable silence, broken occasionally by a stray shot or a cry of pain. Trent licked his lips in anticipation. Abruptly, the doors opened up.

The Elites each tossed a plasma grenade into the main entrance, then, almost as soon as they erupted, charged in. Trent knew he had to get in there. He broke cover and sprinted across the broken, snowy battlefield. He heard others moving with him and realized Kiza, Blake and Cann had moved to join him. The Elites moved as well, some of them breaking off and circling around the structure, finding alternate ways in.

Trent heard nothing when he reached the door. He peered within. A heap of black-clad corpses resided within, but no Elites. They must have moved deeper within. Trent and the others entered. They began splintering, the Elites that followed plunging into side corridors. Ten minutes passed before they had the entire facility secured. Trent listened to the radio chatter and worked his way towards an elevator in the center of the structure on a subterranean floor. There, he found a contingent of Elites with swords preparing to descend.

That's when he realized who was leading the Elites.

"Enzo?" He'd been in the process of doling out orders in a flat, monotone voice that seemed almost alien to him. But when Trent said that single word, the voice abruptly ceased, almost as though a switch had been flipped.

Enzo turned.

"...Trent?" he said, his voice very quiet now. His eyes bored into Trent, then, briefly, flicked behind him. "Kiza. How is this possible?"

"Time slip caused by the slipspace engine," Trent replied. Enzo seemed to process this. The other Elites were watching all this quietly.

"That...makes sense. By the Gods...we had assumed you dead. Where is Eric? Thorne? The three of you were missing for so long..."

"Thorne is fine. Somewhere on Omega Halo. Eric didn't make it."

"I am so sorry, Trent. I know what it's like to loose a most cherish brethren...but now I know what it is like to get one back." Enzo swiftly deactivated his blade, crossed the room and swept Trent up in a giant hug.

"You Elites _really_ have a thing for hugging, don't you?" he asked, and tried his best to hug Enzo back. The big Elite set him down and patted him hard on the shoulders.

"I cannot _begin _to describe how good it is to see you," he said, grinning big in that funny way that Elites grinned.

"Right back at you, buddy, but I think that if we don't get to that Cartographer soon, Childs will castrate us," Trent replied. Enzo laughed easily and led Trent over to the lift, which was little more than a flat pane of steel and glass with a light-pad.

"I would wish him luck in the endeavor. As he would need it," Enzo replied. Several other Elites and the other Survivors gathered on the lift. Once they were ready, Enzo hit a button on the pad. The lift shot down into the earth. Several seconds passed in a mounting tension. When it finally reached its destination, they found nothing waiting for them. Just an empty room of silver metal and ambient light.

There was just one door, so they went through it. It led to a long corridor that ended in a broad room containing a single terminal of light.

"The Cartographer," Enzo said quietly. "It appears we are in luck. They didn't manage to get down here. Let's gather up our information and be done."

Trent watched as he went to work.

They were one step closer.


	36. Assault on the Control Room

_**Chapter 36  
**-Assault on the Control Room-_

"So, how are you?" Trent asked. He was sitting in the round purple belly of a Phantom dropship with Enzo and the other survivors. They had gained access to the Cartographer and were presently making their way to the Control Room, which appeared to be located atop a mountain in a vast desert. More Elites and a couple of squads of Yellowjackets were on their way to bulk up Enzo's forces since preliminary scans showed that something was already waiting for them in the area. They couldn't exactly figure out what, unfortunately.

"I'm very tired," Enzo replied, then grinned. Trent took a pull on his Yeheyuan and blew a smoke ring. "Other than that, I am quite pleased. It's very good to see you once more, especially after living with the knowledge that you were likely dead."

"Likely?" Trent replied.

"Most of us never actually gave up hope. We just got called away on business," Cann said.

"Yes. I was...most uncooperative when the call came," Enzo said quietly. Cann chuckled.

"If Childs had been there in person, I think Enzo might've broke his neck."

"Wow," Trent said. Enzo shrugged uncomfortable.

"You are important to me," he said simply.

"You're important to me, too, Enzo...shit, hold on, Childs is calling." Trent activated his comms unit. "Yeah? What's happening?"

_"Is that any way to respond to your commanding officer?"_

"It is when you're my level of awesome." Childs sighed heavily.

_"I've got more forces moving on the Control Room. A trio of ODST squads will be joining you. I'm not entirely sure what the hell is down there, but there are a _lot_ of them. I'm also rerouting a couple squads of Marines who are nearby."_

"Where are the other Survivors? You find them yet?"

_"Jorge and Linda are out scouting Black Ops, infiltrating one of their big outposts. Nauls and Melissa have been rerouted to the Cartographer to see what Nauls can dig up out of it and see if he can figure out anything more about what the hell Black Ops wants here. Once you have control of the Control Room, they'll head there. Jared is...off doing his own thing."_

"Alright, sounds good. I'll radio you when we have control."

_"You'd better."_ Childs cut the link. Trent sighed.

"That guy is an asshole."

"I think you disappearing kind of soured him for a while. It was really inconvenient," Cann replied.

"We are nearing the drop point," Enzo said. Trent got up and moved into the cockpit. He stared out at the hundreds of miles of desert wasteland and looked ahead to the Control Room. It was then he thought something was wrong with his eyes. Because what he was seeing surely couldn't be correct. The entire area around the mountain, and the mountain itself, seemed to be writhing, as though covered by an army of living things...

"Oh shit," he muttered. He patched into the general comms. "Everyone get ready for a hard fight! We've got Bugs down there!" Even as he said it, a swarm of things broke away from the area and began to move towards them like a black cloud. Trent moved back into the main hold.

"We should be able to just fly to the mountaintop and bypass all this shit," he said. "Providing our luck holds out. Which, of course, shouldn't be a-" The Phantom lurched sickeningly to one side. Trent shouted in surprise as he was thrown to the ground.

"What the hell's going on!?" Cann snapped.

"I imagine giant bees and wasps and probably other flying things are crashing into us right now," Trent replied.

The Phantom leveled out again and Trent could hear the staccato of triple plasma cannons firing. The Survivors waited impatiently as the Phantom pressed on. Twice more it was smashed into and sent lurching violently to one side. After the second time, Trent noticed a slight decrease of power and elevation.

"Aw, crap," he muttered. They were smashed into abruptly again and this time the Phantom lost power completely. For several seconds, they were in free fall. Then everything came to an immediate and painful halt as they crashed into the earth. Trent rose to his feet as quickly as he could. He snagged his SAW and battle rifle and spied Enzo tearing a plasma turret from its moorings. The big Elite walked over to the side door and kicked it open.

"Holy shit, when did Enzo get all Terminator?" Cann asked.

Abruptly, there was no more time for talking as Enzo started firing out of the open door. Already, Trent could see bugs trying to get in. He hurried over and joined Enzo at the breach, firing into an immense crowd of writhing, giant insects. The others joined them. For nearly two minutes straight, it was nothing but blowing away wave after wave of bugs. Trent was glad he'd managed to restock his ammo before leaving the Cartographer.

When the insects had finally gotten the message and given them a bit of room, Trent and the others headed out. Their ship had crashed on a small mound of sand that gave them a good view of the immediate area. They were a couple of dozen meters short of base of the mountain. Overhead, the Pelicans and Phantoms that had survived the areal battle were doing strafing runs. ODST pods shrieked down from the bleached skies.

In between them and their goal was an army of giant bugs: ants, spiders, scorpions, beetles, termites, centipedes...the list went on.

"Good Christ..." Cann whispered.

"Alright, listen up. It looks like there's two ways up. Enzo, I want you, Cann and Kiza to break to the right, link up with those ODSTs and start making for the apex. Blake, you're with me. We're going to head for those Yellowjackets to the left."

There were a string of affirmative responses. The Survivors broke away from the mound, charging down into the haze of bloody chaos. Trent sighted a black widow coming his way, suppressed a shiver and let the monster have it. He emptied half a clip into its hideous face and as it collapsed to the ground, turned the barrage of bullets onto an encroaching ant. One of its antenna flew off in a spray of blood, then a portion of its head collapsed under the pressure of the bullets. It fell to the ground, only to make way for huge black beetle.

Trent began rapidly reloading, unsure if he had enough time to do so. He looked around. Blake was helping a handful of Marines. He finished reloading, brought the gun up to the beetle and then leapt back as it abruptly crashed to the ground. The action coincided with the distinct sound of a sniper rifle being fired. Trent glanced beyond the huge armored corpse and saw one of the Yellowjackets up ahead turning his rifle to fire on another target.

"Alright, Blake! Rally those Marines and let's haul ass!" Trent shouted.

It was time for another hard run. Trent linked up with Blake and a half dozen bloodied men in green Ballistics armor and began punching a hole through the writhing horde of titanic bugs. They made decent time, fighting through the sun and the scalding sunshine. By the time Trent reached the Yellowjackets at the base of the mountain, he'd depleted his SAW. He abandoned it in favor of his battle rifle and a shotgun he'd pulled off a dead Marine.

"You're with me!" he called to the Yellowjacket squad. There were five of them left and there was a brief lull in battle. "I'm with ONI and we need to take the top of the mountain!"

"Affirmative!" one of them called back. "Let's get to it, boys and girls!"

They hit the ramp and began pushing up it. Trent raised his shotgun and blew one of the legs off a giant tarantula blocking their way. It howled in alien fury, then took a barrage of red hot lead, stumbled and crashed off the path. Trent glanced up. A series of ramps and platforms had been cut into the side of the mountain, providing a path to the top. He checked in with Enzo and the others as he led Blake, the Yellowjackets and the few Marines left alive up the side of the mountain.

"How's it going on your end?"

_"Good. We're making swift progress through the horde, cutting a bloody swath through them!" _Enzo replied, obviously enamored with the thrill of combat and the blood of fallen enemies.

"Excellent. Keep it up. We're making our way up the side of the mountain," Trent replied.

_"Keep at it, blood brother!"_

They fought a brutal and bloody battle up the ramps, punching their way through hordes of the huge insects. By the time they reached the apex, the Marines had died and Trent's armor was splattered with blood and gore. Atop the mountain was a metal plateau wreathed in sand. It was curiously void of enemies. Trent glanced around as he reloaded. Blake and three of the Yellowjackets were still with him. He spied Enzo, Kiza and Cann leading nearly a dozen ODSTs up from the other side. They regrouped in the middle.

"Enzo, Kiza, Cann, Blake, you're all with me. Everyone else, stand out here and secure the perimeter. Nothing gets in behind us, got it?" Trent asked.

There were a string of affirmative replies. With that, Trent led the others towards a huge door built right into the mountaintop. Enzo opened it up with a few commands on the light pad. The titanic silver doors slowly disappeared into the mountain, opening up a broad, tall tunnel of auburn metal and ambient light. There was nobody and nothing within. They made their way down the passageway, feeling that familiar tension mount.

Trent initiated the door at the other end and watched it open almost soundlessly. He stared grimly into the room beyond. Waiting for them was a huge room, gigantic, lit by the neon glow of Forerunner holographic technology. A glass and metal walkway extended away from them, eventually coming to a circular walkway of similar design. Where the walkways met was a light-pad and, standing in front of the light-pad was...

"Holy shit..." Trent whispered.

"Who the hell is _that_?" Cann asked quietly.

"It never occurred to me until now...I was the one to kidnap him, I was the one to hand him over to Black Ops...back when they were still the good guys, or at least hiding it well enough...guys, we are in for a serious fight."

"Who _is_ he?" Cann growled.

"His name is Jason Voorhees."

He stood nearly seven feet tall, wrapped in bloody tatters and still wearing his battered old hockey mask. Trent could see some modifications to his head. Curious technology poked out of his skull. He was still carrying his machete, old and bloodstained.

"But he's just a guy," Blake murmured. "Granted, he's a big guy with a...what is that? Is that a sword?"

"Machete," Trent murmured.

"Yeah, a machete. But we've got freaking machine guns and grenades. I mean, what, this is their big bad guard dog?" Trent sighed.

"Here, watch this." He raised his battle rifle, aimed and fired, putting a three-round burst into Jason's neck. There was a spray of blood, and Jason took a step back, but then regained his footing and continued staring at them with malignant crimson eyes.

"Well...shit," Blake murmured.

"What do we do?" Cann asked. Jason began walking towards them silently, his strides long but his pace calm.

"Shoot the shit out of him, I guess," Trent replied.

They all raised their weapons and opened fire. Jason began to vibrate as a hail of bullets peppered him, creating dozens of small bursts of blood. He kept walking, then slowed, then staggered at one point. But as they ran out of ammo and began reloading, he was still standing, still coming for them.

"I see your point," Enzo said quietly.

Then Jason was upon them. Cann moved swiftly forward and bashed him right in the hockey mask with the butt of his rifle. Jason punched him in the chest and sent him flying backwards. He turned to Blake and before anyone could move to stop him, he jabbed the machete hilt deep into Blake's gut.

"_Blake_!" Trent heard himself scream. He ran forward and shot Jason in the head with his shotgun. The force of the blast tore away some of Jason's skull and physically pushed him flat onto his back, taking his machete with him. Blake collapsed to the ground without a sound. Trent prepared for another blast, but Enzo rushed past him with an energy sword and decapitated Jason. He worked quickly and silently, cutting off each of the limbs and kicking the over the side of the catwalk to the ground hundreds of feet below.

He finished by cutting the chest in half and sending it and the decapitated head over the edge as well, then immediately began calling for a medical evacuation. Trent opened up his medkit, working quickly, trying to at least get the wound sealed.

"Don't worry," he heard himself whispering. "I'm not going to lose you, Blake. I'm not going to lose you. We'll make it..."


	37. Reunion Tour

_**Chapter 37  
**-Reunion Tour-_

They flew back in a Phantom.

Trent and the others rushed him out of the Control Room to a waiting Phantom that brought them up through its gravity beam. Below them, the battle was dying down. The Elites had brought in more firepower and were wiping out the bugs by the dozens. Another squad of Yellowjackets had come up and were currently holding the Control Room itself. Trent had taken off Blake's helmet and was staring at his pallid face while Cann did his best to keep him stabilized. They were moving as quickly as they could and had radioed ahead.

Trent could feel a familiar despair creeping over him. He hadn't even had a chance to get over losing Eric yet. While Blake certainly wasn't as close as Eric, Trent had come to think of him as one of the team by now.

"How far out are we?" he asked, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. They were going as fast as they could.

"Five minutes," Enzo replied tightly. Trent suppressed a sigh. Too long, it felt like much too long, and it might be.

"How's he doing?" he asked.

"Not good. He'll need surgery. I think one of his organs might have been nicked, but I can't tell for sure. I've got the HQ prepping a surgical bay for him. I'm doing it all myself. They'll get him offloaded and prepped while I strip and get scrubbed," Cann replied.

Trent nodded and sat back, waiting for the agonizingly long ride to be over.

* * *

When they hit dirt, a team was already on standby. They got Blake onto a gurney and rushed off for the base. Trent stood there for a moment. He was exhausted, dead tired. Part of him wanted to go and watch the surgery but a bigger part of him really didn't want to. He pulled out a cigarette and lit up. He was nearly out.

"I'm going to check in with Childs," Enzo said quietly. "Would you like to come?"

"I think I need some sleep, man," Trent replied. "It's been...well, it's been a long...day, week? I dunno. A long time."

"Alright. Call me if you need me."

"I will." Trent watched Enzo and Kiza head off towards the main base. He simply stood there for a long moment, smoking, watching the chaos of activity that seemed constant as Marines and Elites moved swiftly across the landing pads, loading and unloading shipments. Heading out to whatever mission or situation needed them the most.

Trent killed his Yeheyuan and made for the base. He was right, he needed sleep. At least a little bit of it. He made his way across the landing pads, aching to at least be out of the sunshine. He had a headache and it was fixing to become a full-blown migraine soon. He slipped in through the main entrance started to make for one of the side doors when he locked eyes with a very familiar face. He hesitated.

"Ah hell," he muttered.

"You _shit_!" Jennifer snapped, striding rapidly towards him.

"Look, I got stuck in a time-" She slapped him, very hard, across the face. Then grabbed him and kissed him harder. When she let go, he said,

"That might have been the most cliché thing you've ever done."

"Oh, good _God_!" Jennifer cried. "Do you have _any_ idea how shitty it's been for me?!"

"Is there like, _any_ way we can do this somewhere a little more private?" Trent asked. Everyone in the main lobby was staring at them now. She heaved a sigh, grabbed his hand and began pulling him out of the lobby.

* * *

"You got me started on these things, you jackoff," Jennifer said, puffing out a cloud smoke from the blunt. Trent chuckled and took it from her, pulling on it himself.

"Well, not a bad habit to have. Helps relieve stress, ease tension, helps you sleep..."

"Sounds like sex."

"Speaking of sex..."

"Aw hell...he told you, didn't he? Before you get started-" Trent held up his hands in defense, then passed the blunt back to her.

"I'm not mad, I understand," he replied.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I was dead, as far as you were concerned."

"Man, why can't other guys be this easy? Well, it didn't help. Just made things worse."

"Why?" Jennifer sighed and was silent for a long time. She stared into nothingness for a while, the blunt perched between her slender fingers. She began massaging her temples, then finally slipped the blunt back into her mouth.

"Because when you died, I guess...it kicked something inside of me. I've been going on like this for a while, you know? No real relationships, just flings, one night stands, screw buddies...and then you came along and you were just too much fun to give up. I found myself wanting a real relationship again and I decided to embrace it. Told myself nothing would happen to you...you were invincible. Heh, should've known, just had to hold out for six months. But when you died...part of me just wanted things to go back to the old way, another part of me just wanted to give up. It really sucked. When I slept with Blake, it felt like I was cheating on you, even though you were dead and gone. But now you're back and...I feel a whole hell of a lot better."

"I can't promise to live through this," Trent said after a long moment. "I just...I can't. It's not fair to you. The best I can do is promise I'll try as hard as I can not to die." Jennifer laughed.

"I guess that'll have to do...now let's go for round two," she replied, killing the blunt.

* * *

Trent woke four hours later, showered, shaved and dressed. In a fresh uniform, he made for the infirmary and found Cann checking in on Blake, who was unconscious in one of the beds. As soon as he spied that slow rise and fall of the man's chest, Trent relaxed. The rational part of him knew that if anything had gone seriously wrong, they would have called him. But still...it helped to see. Cann glanced over from checking Blake's vitals.

"How you holding up?" he asked.

"Better, now. Pretty much picked up where I left off with Jennifer. Holy shit, it suddenly occurred to me that you're all now six months older than you were...and I'm not. I guess biologically speaking. My birthday's still the same...I'm getting off track. How is he?" Trent replied.

"Stable. It wasn't as bad as I thought it was. We repaired the damage. He should be up in a few hours. Combat ready, however...he might be out of the game for a while."

"Ah, hell, that'll really piss him off."

"Yeah, I know. I'm likely going to need your help convincing him to stay down because he's probably going to be all like 'No way, I can handle it!' Like all the soldiers always do..."

"Alright, I can do that. Where's everyone else?"

"I'm not entirely sure..." Cann was cut off as his comms unit went off. He activated it and spoke quietly for a few moments, then turned to Trent. "It seems Childs is back on the scene and figures we've had enough downtime. He wants us all to gather for the next briefing. Apparently this is a big one, and that's saying something."

"Hopefully it'll put us a lot closer to finishing off Black Ops," Trent replied.

They headed out of the infirmary and navigated the outpost until they found the briefing room. Trent found every other Survivor there but Nauls, who he assumed must still be at the Control Room. Jorge, Linda and Melissa stared at him with varying degrees of interest.

"Huh," Jorge murmured.

"Knew he wasn't dead," Linda said. Melissa and Jared didn't say anything.

"Yes, yes. I've resurrected Trent from the dead. Call me Lazarus and sit down. We've got a war to win," Childs grunted.

"_Is_ this a war?" Jorge asked.

"Might as well be now. Alright, now we're all here. Well, except Blake, but he'll be out of commission for a little while. Now, let's get right down to it. We're going to be hitting two targets. The first is Black Ops HQ. We've finally found it on a rainy little island in the middle of nowhere. Trent, you are taking Cann, Jared and Enzo are linking up with a trio of Yellowjacket Squads to take down their HQ once and for all. I want you guys to get in there, crack that egg open, get all the gooey information inside and blow that place to hell.

"Now, the second objective. Kiza, Melissa, Linda and Jorge are going to investigate a second site that Black Ops seems particularly interested in. That one is more of a stealth so I'm simply giving you for a Pelican to go off by yourself and figure out what the hell is going on over there that they're so interested in. Questions?"

There were none, as per usual.

"Excellent. Get up, grab your gear and go kick some ass!"


	38. The Fall

_**Chapter 38  
**-The Fall-_

Trent could feel it.

This was a big one. This was important. A game changer. He wasn't sure how or even why, only that the knowledge was intrinsically burned into his psyche. Cann, Jared and Enzo sat alongside him in the back of the Pelican as it buzzed through the atmosphere of Omega Halo, making for the Black Ops HQ. They were coming in low and fast, doing everything they could to stay off the radar. Trent was looking forward to this.

He'd been in contact with the Yellowjacket squadrons, specifically their leaders. Each team, simply called Alpha, Bravo and Charlie, consisted of eight men, all of the ex-Helljumpers, locked, loaded and ready for action. Working off of recon photos of the compound, which looked like it was mostly Forerunner in nature, he'd put together a quick and dirty plan. Alpha and Bravo would make a direct attack on the compound, making a big, loud show of themselves. Charlie would infiltrate the compound via a secondary point that was hidden but obvious and run interference. Trent and his squad would infiltrate via a tertiary, underground entrance.

Trent was hoping the Yellowjacket squads would hold Black Ops' attention while he, the real threat, did the dirty work behind the scenes. He would have liked to pick up some stealth units, but none were available and the mission needed to he launched _right then_. Childs had been very insistent that they get to it immediately.

The Pelican began to give off the telltale signs of descent. They were almost there. Trent began doing a final weapons check.

* * *

The island was dark and rainy. The Pelicans landed near the edge, in a clearing not far from the beach, nestled like great metal birds that bore their namesake among the thick foliage. Trent made his way down the ramp, staring at the solemn trees that surrounded like silent sentinels. The Yellowjacket teams assembled, did one more gear and suit check, double-checked the plan with Trent, then disappeared into the wilderness.

"Let's get going," Trent said, watching the yellow armored soldiers slip into the night. He turned and led the others away from the clearing. Their primary entrance was what appeared to be a service tunnel that stretched from the coast to the facility itself. There was only one real problem...it was underwater. Trent wasn't sure of its functionality, he only knew that it was a solid way into the facility that they hopefully wouldn't see coming.

They hoofed it silently across dense foliage and underbrush. Trent could feel the pressure of the timeline weighing on him. They hit their target without incident and ahead of schedule, checked their map and then plunged into the water. After a few moments spent submerged in grim, watery darkness, they found the entrance: a square tunnel that extended away from them into the island. Trent activated his night-vision and began.

They progressed in bleak silence, maintaining radio silence. Trent listened in on the Yellowjacket's frequency and was pleased to see that everything was underway. They were making the assault, shouting commands amidst a sea of gunfire and explosions. He kept going, seeing the reassuring dots on his motion tracker behind him. Three of them, three Survivors. As they neared the end of the tunnel, they found an airlock style room with a ladder going up to it above them. Trent went first, clearing the area. There was nothing on his motion tracker. He mounted the ladder and hurried up it to the light-pad at the top.

As Trent activated the airlock, the sense that impending doom was waiting for him abruptly enveloped him. It was so startling he nearly lost his grip on the ladder. The others hadn't noticed, so when the airlock finished opening, he climbed up. The ladder continued up the side of the airlock wall. There was only enough room for two of them at a time. Enzo joined him and Trent went to hit the corresponding light-pad.

He hesitated, that pervasive feeling of dread refusing to abate, settling like a rotting shipwreck in the pit of his stomach. He hit the button and began the cycle. It was quick and the corresponding door opened before he had much time to think. Trent kept climbing, the way above narrowing into slender tube carve out of metal. He moved fast, eager to get this part over with and just see what might be waiting for them at the top.

He hit a service hatch, hit the light-pad and crawled out, coming into a small, empty room. There was nothing there. Trent expected the tension to break, but it didn't, instead opting to continue mounting. The others joined them in the room, did a quick gear/suit check and then headed out of the only door.

Beyond was a corridor bathed in ambient amber light and silence broken occasionally by the distance sounds of conflict. They moved swiftly down the corridor, finding a terminal and jacking in to the local network. Trent worked quickly, doing his best not to let memories of Eric surface and distract him. After a moment, he had a map of the area downloaded. He shared it with the others and studied it. As soon as they memorized the route, the quartet took off again. Trent couldn't shake the uneasy feeling.

He had no idea what was the problem. The plan was proceeding accordingly. This was all familiar territory. He had everything on his side from actual luck to his advance suit of armor to his years of intense combat experience.

So what was the problem?

The base was ominously empty. Everyone seemed preoccupied with the Yellowjacket intrusion. Good. Trent hated putting all the heat on them, but he knew they could handle it. They hurried through barren corridors, their footsteps echoing bleakly. Trent kept focused, his barrel peeking around corners, his eyes constantly scanning everything. His shotgun was a lead weight in his hands. They reached the control room without seeing a soul. If not for the reports from the Yellowjackets and the occasional sound of conflict, Trent would have thought the place dead.

When they hit the control room, Trent knew suddenly what final fatality was waiting for them, lurking in the deep shadows of the near future and springing from them as it became the present. When the attack came, it was fast, and Trent was _almost_ as fast.

He swung the barrel of his shotgun and squeezed the trigger even as he heard the rapid-fire of silenced bullets and a bit of blood sprayed across his visor, marring his vision. The assassin, the one who had lain in wait for them aboard the derelict Black Ops ship, the one who had murdered Eric, was here, now.

And took a glancing blow from a shotgun blast. Trent heard the grunt of pain from the assassin, who now stood in the center of the room, machine-pistol in hand, covered head-to-toe in black armor like a malignant machine insect. The shotgun blast had took him in the left side, near his guts, and he was bleeding.

But he wasn't out. Trent and the others moved quickly, trying to get out of his line of sight and away from that deadly pistol. He couldn't even tell who'd been hit. He knew that the shotgun blast had been lucky and let it drop to the floor, opting to rush forward instead. The sudden blitz seemed to throw the assassin off for just a second, but it was enough. Trent smashed into him and the pair went sprawling.

The gunfire ceased immediately, as the others could no longer get a clean shot. Trent immediately grabbed the man's wrists to keep him from grabbing anything, but found the assassin's strength more than his own. He switched his tactics and began punching the man's obsidian opaque visor as hard as he could. It began to crack under the blows and Trent could hear the man's head bouncing around inside his helmet.

When a small burst of blue light came, Trent knew it was time to go. He rolled away, narrowly avoiding the knife of pure energy. The assassin stabbed at him, cutting into the floor and burning a groove into the solid metal. Trent grabbed his pistol and brought it to bear, only to have it cut in half. He rolled away again and heard more gunfire. Twisting, he saw Cann bearing down on the assassin, gun barrel leveled.

The assassin threw the knife at him. Cann shifted, but didn't entirely get out of the way. The blade grazed his shoulder. He screamed in agony and fell back. Enzo was there suddenly, his Covenant Carbine firing even before he had it into position. Several shots cut into the assassins as he scrambled to get up. There were several sprays of blood and a stifled cry of sharp pain. Trent managed to get to his feet and dove into the black-armored killer once more, this time sending them both smashing through a large piece of equipment.

Sparks flew through the air as the two smashed to the ground once more. This time the assassin was on his stomach and Trent landed on his back.

"Enzo!" he cried, holding the man in place. The Elite knew what to do. He ran up and fired off the rest of his clip into the struggling assassin's head before he could break Trent's grasp. The body went slack in Trent's grasp. He noticed Enzo shifting and slowly got up. Enzo disappeared from his view and came back a moment later, wielding the knife. He knelt and cut off the assassin's head, then tossed it aside.

"Just to be sure," he murmured. Trent nodded wearily. The knife abruptly flickered and died. It wouldn't come back on. Enzo tossed it aside.

"How are you?" Trent asked, finding Cann leaning against a wall, dealing with his wound with a can of biofoam.

"I'll live," he growled. Trent nodded and turned once more, this time his gaze coming to rest on the unmoving form of Jared. His visor was shattered, his pale face inside ruined. Those deadly bullets had put an end to him. Trent felt a kind of dark fear settle over him as he stared at Jared's corpse. Two of them were dead now...something seemed wrong. He made himself remember the mission and went over to the primary computer.

"Enzo, can you get Jared's body?" he asked as he tied into the main computer and began downloading everything there. The big Elite nodded and moved to complete the task. Trent got updates from the Yellowjackets as he waited for the database to download. Alpha team was gone, Bravo was down to quarter strength and Charlie had only suffered a few losses. He ordered them to pull out and regroup at the landing site. After downloading the data, he set the reactor to blow and began leading the others out of the base.

It was time for the next step.

* * *

The Pelican interior was beset by a grim, silent atmosphere. Trent, Enzo and Cann sat staring at Jared's body. Another one of them dead. Another. Trent felt an awkward absence of emotion. Was it because he was still so close to Eric's death? Or was it something a bit bleaker? That he simply didn't know Jared that well? He hadn't had much time to hang out with the man and had gotten the impression that he was a bit of a loner.

"How you holding up?" he asked Cann. He remembered that Cann and Jared had become friends.

"I'll live," Cann replied quietly, whether he was referring to his physical or mental state, Trent couldn't guess. Maybe it was both. Trent's radio abruptly came to life.

_"Sir, there's something wrong. I can't get into contact with anyone at HQ."_ It was the pilot. Trent stood and moved to the cockpit.

"What's going on? Jamming signal?" he replied, staring out the cockpit windows. It was still raining and he could just make out the outline of HQ.

"I'm not sure. All I know is that there's currently nothing on the waves but dead air," the pilot replied. Trent frowned and maintained his silence as they made their final approach on the base. From what he could see, there was nothing wrong. No giant bugs. No Black Ops troops. No Undead. So what was the problem?

Trent's eyes widened in surprise as he saw a blossom of red and yellow from the ground. A missile shrieked up towards them. It slammed directly into the Pelican holding the remainder of the Yellowjackets, which immediately began to lose altitude. A second bloom of flame and a second missile came directly for them.

"Take evasive-"

The missile hit, sending the Pelican lurching. Trent had just enough time to stumble back into the cargo hold before they hit the ground and he passed out.

* * *

When Trent woke up, he was being dragged from the wreckage. He felt groggy with pain and misery. He ached everywhere. He tried to look around, but his neck hurt and doing so sent lances of agony down his spine and up to his brain. All he saw was the ground, first wet grasslands, then glistening, fresh instacrete. Finally, he saw someone's shoes. They dropped him there, at the feet of...whoever it was.

"Trent...I've been looking forward to this for some time."

Trent felt a bolt of pure black fear shoot through him, nearly stopping his heart. He heard a grunt to his left, then his right. Enzo and Cann. Slowly, painfully, he got to his hands and knees, then straightened up so that he was on his knees.

He looked up into the face of Childs, who was grinning down at him.

"Where's the fourth one?" he asked.

"Dead," a cold, almost mechanical voice replied.

"On impact?"

"No, he was shot." Childs laughed softly.

"Seems like Razor got the best of one of you at least. Well...two, now," he said, then looked down at Trent. Childs was holding a sleek black pistol. "Take off their helmets," he said. Rough hands grabbed him again. Their helmets were removed. Trent breathed in the fresh, rain-scented air. He felt that he was going to die now.

"Why?" he asked, staring up at Childs. The man grinned grimly.

"Ah yes, the proverbial, omnipresent why? Trent, do you know how long I tried to get my Survivors program together? It took _decades_ of work. Do you fully comprehend that word? Decades? I'm forty three, Trent. I've spent at least _half_ of my existence in this wretched, miserable universe trying to _save_ Humanity. And they _fought_ me on it. They fought _me_...trying to _save_ them. Do you have any idea how infuriating that is?

"But I finally got it through ONI's thick skull that my idea was a good idea. And the Survivor's program was finally initiated. And even then there were restrictions and mandatory meetings and report after report after report. Constantly scrutinizing my work, my choices, my decisions...they treated me like an idiot child! And then what did they do!? They took my Survivors away from me and forced us all to fight their little war with Black Ops. And then they told me that the Survivors program would be fully inducted into ONI with direct ONI supervision after the end of the war with Black Ops. And that I was to be relieved at that point...

"They finally gave me lease to make my life's work a reality...and then they wanted to take it away from me! So what do you _think_ I'd do!? Of _course_ I went over to Black Ops! You know they were preparing to run their own Survivors program? Razor was the first. Only they were going to be better!...And now...I'm afraid I have to kill you. It's obvious you'd never join me. You all have hard-ons for the UNSC, so..."

At this point, Childs shrugged, pointed the barrel at Cann's head and squeezed the trigger.

"_NO_!" Trent heard himself scream. Enzo roared and began to struggle against his captors. Childs turned the barrel on Trent and suddenly he found himself staring down that bleak barrel of frozen blackness that had all the appeal of a black hole.

Who knew where it might have gone if there wasn't abruptly an explosion nearby and the base was suddenly plunged into chaos as a wave of Undead hit from all sides. Childs let his attention slip and Trent smashed the gun aside while he leapt forward, breaking the hold his captors had on him. Enzo threw himself up and back, crushing one of the men beneath his great weight. Childs let out a startled sound as Trent grabbed his arm firmly in one hand, grabbed his wrist with the other and forced it back until he heard a snap.

Childs began screaming, his own weapon now pointed back at his head, his arm broken in many places. Trent wished he could send the bastard off with a nastier death, but there just wasn't time. He squeezed the trigger, then freed the pistol from Childs's grip as his brains escaped his skull in a plume of gore. He turned the pistol on the nearest troops, who he realized now were Black Ops, and shot them all in the head.

He finished the clip off by murdering Enzo's captors and helped the big Elite to his feet.

"It's just the two of us now..." Enzo said quietly.

"No. I know that Blake is still in the base. Jennifer probably is, too. And maybe some others. Come on!" They grabbed their helmets, reattached them and set off.

Chaos boiled around them. The undead were everywhere. The Black Ops troops were doing everything they could to hold them off, but the creatures had sheer numbers and ferocity on their side. Trent found that while long-range communications were still down, short-range still worked fine. He tapped into a channel he'd given specifically to the Survivors and his crew and called out to them. Blake, Jennifer and Nauls responded.

"Okay, okay...Blake, how are you doing?" Trent asked as he and Enzo dodged humans and undead alike, mostly leaving them to duke it out amongst themselves.

_"__I'm in the infirmary and I'm able to kill. What the hell is going on? A pair of Black Ops assholes just broke in and tried to kill me. They got a facefull of scalpel for their troubles but my gut still hurts."_

"Childs has betrayed us. He just killed Cann. Jared is dead, too, killed by that assassin asshole, who's now also dead. I killed Childs. Black Ops has taken over the base, but it's under attack by undead," Trent replied as quickly as he could, making for the infirmary.

_"Holy shit!"_ Nauls cried.

_"Whoa, seriously?!"_ Blake replied.

"Yes. Jennifer, Nauls, where are you?"

_"I'm in my quarters. I was sleeping,"_ Jennifer replied.

_"In my office, on the north side of the base,"_ Nauls said.

"Shit, okay. Blake, stay where you are. Nauls, can you get to the hangar and secure a Pelican for us?"

_"Yes."_

"Okay. Do it. Jennifer, stay where you are, too-"

_"Oh no, I'm not doing this whole damsel in distress thing, Trent. You know me better than that! I'll make my way to the hangar," _Jennifer replied. Trent sighed.

"Alright, fine, whatever. Just be careful, please. I don't need to lose more friends at this point."

_"I will."_

"Good. Blake, we gonna have problems? You gonna go all Rambo on me?"

_"I'd love to, but I think I popped some of my stitches. I need a minute to wrap myself back up."_

"Okay, good. Enzo and I will be there soon. Everyone get to it."

There were a trio of affirmative replies. Trent and Enzo hurried through the bloody corridors of the former UNSC HQ. They liberated shotguns from corpses and fought their way through the madness and chaos. By the time they found Blake, he'd patched himself up and was mostly into his armor, which apparently he'd kept in the infirmary with him.

"You sure you're okay?" Trent asked.

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Modern medical marvels. Death's doorstep today, back on the killing floor day after tomorrow..." Blake replied. He secured his helmet. They grabbed some more ammo from Black Ops corpses and began shooting their way through the corridors, cutting a bloody path through the creatures and the Black Ops towards the hangar. Trent worked on pure adrenaline as he fired shell after shell until his arms started to go numb. Enzo and Blake were in top form, murdering everything they came across as quickly as they could.

By the time they reached the hangar, they were soaked in blood. Trent spied Nauls standing at the base of a ramp, shooting anyone who came too close. The trio sprinted across the hangar and everyone boarded the Pelican.

"Go!" Trent cried. Jennifer hardly waited for them to be inside before she took off, closing the ramp as the ship exited the hangar.

"Now what?" Enzo asked.

"We get into contact with the others and...find someone we can trust. We need to find a UNSC outpost," Trent replied. The four of them continually tried to get into contact with the other Survivors as Jennifer headed away from the base.

"There's a secondary base for the UNSC," Jennifer called back. "Want me to head there?" Trent sighed.

"No, not yet. We need to get to that second site that Childs sent the others. Anyone got anyone yet?" Trent asked.

"I've got Kiza!" Enzo announced. He paused, listening, then spoke rapidly, then headed for the cockpit. "They're still alive and fighting Black Ops troops. I've got the coordinates."

"Alright. Jennifer, punch them in," Trent said.

The Pelican shifted and headed towards the bleak horizon.


	39. Endgame

_**Chapter 39  
**-Endgame-_

From up high, the site Kiza and the others had been sent to looked like the gaping maw of Hell. A huge, circular structure sat in a large clearing amidst a forest wreathed in silvery mist. It was dark, just past sunset on this part of the ring, and there were firefights everywhere. From what Trent could see, Black Ops troops were locked in fierce combat with the undead. Enzo was in the back, talking with Kiza. Trent hovered over Jennifer's shoulder in the cockpit.

"Should I fire on them?" Jennifer asked after a moment. She seemed eager.

"No, we don't know where Kiza and the others are, and we don't exactly want to draw attention to ourselves," Trent replied. Enzo abruptly joined them.

"Kiza says that they are all alive and near the east entrance to the structure, and they are locked in fierce combat. It seems that Black Ops are desperately trying to get at whatever is inside the structure," he explained.

"Alright, Jennifer, get us over there, do a few strafing runs and then land right next to them. Enzo, tell Kiza and the others to bunker down."

Everyone moved. Trent watched the Pelican shift and slide forward. He could hear the guns warming up. Once Enzo gave them the clear, Jennifer launched a pair of missiles into the thickest midst of undead and Black Ops troops, morphing them into bloody, fiery shreds. Almost instantly she had the minigun working, sweeping it back and forth across the battlefield, taking down dozens of them. When it was silent again, she immediately descended.

They landed and hit the back ramp. Trent pounded down it, Enzo, Blake and Nauls right behind him, mopping up the survivors. Kiza and the others were bunkered down in the entryway to the huge structure. They came out and helped, blowing away anyone or anything that came too close. When it was relatively quiet, they regrouped in between the Pelican and the entryway.

"What's the situation?" Trent asked.

"Black Ops wants whatever is in there, bad. We were getting ready to head inside but we got hit hard by undead and Black Ops. We need to hurry," Linda replied.

"Alright. Enzo, Linda and Jorge with me. Everyone else, stay out here and make for damn sure that nothing happens to our ride out of here. Questions?"

There were none. They split up. Trent lead the others into the tunnel that was lit by morose amber light. They found no one waiting for them inside the long, broad stretch of silver metal. Trent wondered what he was going to find at the end of it. What was Black Ops after? They hurried on in silence, finally reaching another large door at the opposite end. Enzo opened it and Trent watched the seperate pieces of the door slide into the wall.

Beyond them was a huge, circular room with a domed ceiling. It was darker than the rest of the area, lit by a cool blue light. Large pieces of equipment studded the floor and in the middle of it all was a curious holographic display. He noticed a cluster of black-armored men surrounding it and hurled a frag grenade. Almost before the grenade left his hand, one of them turned, raised a rocket launcher and fired.

The rocket struck one of the pieces of equipment jutting up out of the ground next to Trent and sent him sprawling. Everyone scattered, taking cover, and the firefight was on. Trent rolled behind some cover and got to his feet. His armor had absorbed most of the blast, but now his head was aching on top of everything else. He peered cautiously from around cover, glad he'd grabbed a battle rifle in the Pelican, and nearly had his head shot off.

He could hear the others taking potshots, but realized they were having much luck either. Trent realized that this must be a team of higher ranking troops. They had every angle pinned down and their reflexes were high. He thought for a moment, then grabbed another grenade, primed it and tossed it around the corner.

A second later, it landed right back at his feet.

"Oh shit!" he cried. Trent barely had enough time to dive away before it exploded and sent him rolling again. He scrambled for cover as gunfire rained down on him. Getting back up again, putting his back to the cover, Trent tried to think of how to approach this. Abruptly, the gunfire fell away. He heard Jorge call out,

"They're retreating!"

The quartet of Survivors moved out from behind cover. Trent barely caught site of the group of Black Ops troops disappearing down another corridor.

"Jorge, Linda, get after them!" Trent called. The pair of Spartan Twos took off. Trent and Enzo approached the main holographic display, which was still working. Trent began to work the controls for a moment, as he had become familiar with Forerunner technology over the months. After a moment, he realized there was data in the display. He ran a quick transfer of whatever it was Black Ops had downloaded into his own suit. By the time he'd finished, Jorge and Linda had returned, firmly closing the door behind them.

"We lost them, there's too many undead out there. They got into a ship and took off," Linda reported.

"Shit, alright. Come on. I got whatever it was they were after. Let's get out of here and maybe we can start to make sense of this," Trent replied.

They hurried back down the corridor, making for the Pelican.

* * *

The secondary HQ was set into a misty swamp and was still in the midst of being constructed. They received a somewhat awkward permission to land and set the Pelican down on one of the landing pads. Trent waited for the ship to settle, then stood and made his way down the landing ramp after it had blossomed open. He hesitated as he found an armed reception waiting for him at the bottom. A team of Yellowjackets stood by, backed up by a couple of squads of Marines and ODSTs. They were covering the Survivors with their weapons.

"Whoa, what the hell is this?" Trent asked.

"Stand down!" someone shouted. Trent spied a new figure rushing out onto the landing pad. "Stand down, goddamnit! That's an order!" Almost reluctantly, the dozens of soldiers slowly lowered their weapons. The man approached Trent and offered his hand.

"Sergeant Major Silver, I'm the guy who's running the show for the moment. When we got word that Childs went rogue on us...well, a lot of us assumed the Survivors followed him. But I managed to pull security footage from the primary base and saw you're little murderfest. And, I have to say, you killed Childs in a particular brutal way, man. We also managed to dig some of Childs's files out of the base. He was looking to take you guys out of the game. So that clears you. Come on, get inside, shit's about to get real," Silver explained.

Trent just shrugged and nodded, opting to follow Silver through the crowd of armed and armored men, the other Survivors following him. They plunged into the base, moving through the shifting masses of those within.

"So what did you find at the site?" he asked. "We've been keeping tabs on you."

"Black Ops was there. They got some data from a Forerunner database and took off. I managed to grab a copy as well," Trent replied.

"Oh hell..." Silver muttered.

"What are they actually after? Have we even figured that out yet?" They came into a command center, ringed by banks of monitors and huge databanks.

"Yes, unfortunately. Come on, follow me," Silver replied. He led them to a door at the back that led to a briefing room. The Survivors all crowded in after Silver. Once they were all in, the door was closed behind them.

"We managed to piece together exactly what they are looking for and what they're doing with that database you managed to grab from their HQ. It seems that Black Ops is attempting to construct a super weapon, worse than the Halos."

"Wait...how?" Trent replied.

"When the Halos go off, the galaxy at least remains fundamentally the same, just minus all life. What Black Ops are building, apparently based off of a Forerunner plan B, is a galaxy-buster bomb. They've been looking for pieces of information on how to build it. And I'm willing to bet that what they got at that outpost as the last piece of the puzzle. This bomb, it seems, will wipe out the galaxy. It seems they've already built most of it near the galactic core."

"But...this sounds insane! Why would they even do this?!" Trent cried.

"Likely they're going to hold us all hostage once they get it built. Or, hell, I dunno, maybe the guy in charge is just nuts and he'll really blow us all to hell."

"Who _is_ in charge?"

"Man named Gray. He was at the tip-top of the pyramid. Guy's a genius. But he started getting buggy about six months before Black Ops officially went rogue. His reports started getting strange. It was right after he personally visited an isolated Forerunner site..." There was suddenly a chime at the door. Silver walked over and opened it. A young Marine burst in, his face slick with sweat, eyes wide with fear.

"Sergeant Major!" he cried.

"What is it, son?" Silver replied.

"Black Ops are pulling out across the board and...they released the Flood," the young Marine replied. Silver paled.

"Dear God..." he whispered. "Alright, scramble all forces to the Flood sites, get the Elites in on this, we'll need glassing. Have the Yellowjackets put out a call for more squads. I want everyone here, you got it!?" he snapped.

"Yes, Sergeant Major!" The Marine disappeared.

"Ah, hell," Silver muttered.

"We've got to go after them, if they're heading for their bomb..." Trent said.

"We can't let the Flood get off Omega Halo!" Silver replied. They stared at each other for a long moment, at an impasse.

"Give me a speedship, I can do it," Trent said finally.

"Not by yourself. I'm not risking that," Silver replied. "Take your best man and I'll send a squad of Yellowjackets to back you up, but you have to move out now. I need everyone else here to help me contain the Flood."

Trent looked at the others. They stared back at him. Finally, his eyes fell on Enzo, who nodded to him.

"Me and Enzo will go," Trent said.

"Alright, good. Everyone else out, I'll start directing you and I'll get your speedship and squad ready."

"We'll need just a minute," Trent replied. Silver sighed.

"Alright, hurry up!" He left the room. Everyone but Kiza and Jennifer followed them out. An awkward silence fell across the room. Trent and Jennifer moved over to one side and gave Enzo and Kiza some privacy.

"Well...this sucks," Jennifer said.

"Yeah, tell me about it. I lose six months and have to immediately go flying into the jaws of hell again...and again...and again...my life sucks."

"It's not all bad. We had some fun."

"Yeah...besides, I'll be back after this whole thing. Just...do me a favor. Please don't die helping them contain the Flood." Jennifer sighed and rolled her eyes.

"I'm not going to die here. Just...come back to me soon, and alive, okay?" Trent laughed, reached up and took off his helmet.

"Don't worry, I always come back alive," he replied. They kissed once, but passionately. When they finished up, Trent could see that Enzo and Kiza were done as well. They all left the briefing room together, hurrying through the base, back out to the landing pads. The only one Trent found waiting for him was Blake. Everyone else had gone off to being preparations.

"Good luck," Blake said, offering him his hand. Trent shook it, then gripped it and brought Blake into a half-hug.

"You, too," he replied.

And just like that, he and Enzo got onto the Pelican and took off.

* * *

They met with the speedship in orbit and punched it. The only other people onboard were Yellowjackets and a pilot. Everyone was gearing up. Trent met with the Yellowjackets and began speaking with their man in charge, Sergeant Turcotte.

"So, what's the opposition?" he asked. Turcotte was a grim man with a jagged scar down his face, close-cropped black going gray hair and looked to be in his mid forties. He looked like the kind of man who'd seen several lifetimes of battle.

"King hell opposition," Trent replied. Turcotte grinned a nasty grin.

"My kind." Trent spent the next half an hour filling them in on the situation, which was saying something, considering they were more or less flying blind. Turcotte and the others didn't seem to mind. In fact, they appeared to enjoy the idea. Once the briefing was over, they made for the armor, grabbing as much gear as they could carry. As they were finishing up, Enzo passed Trent something. He studied it for a moment.

"Energy sword," Enzo said. "I figured we'd need them."

"You know, in all my years, I'm not sure I've ever used one of these...strange, considering how useful they are. Thanks, Enzo."

"Be careful out there, Trent."

"You, too."

* * *

Black Ops was waiting for them when they slammed out of slipspace. Probably the only thing that saved them was the fact that they had come out so close to what apparently was the bomb, which turned out to be an enormous installation. A small army of cruisers and assault ships orbited around the titanic station. Trent, Enzo and Turcotte stared out at them from their position on the bridge. Turcotte bristled at the sight.

"Oh, hell," the pilot moaned.

"Go straight in, ram the bastards," Trent growled.

"That's going to render our ship inoperable," the pilot replied.

"Just do it!"

"You're the boss. Buckle up." Trent tapped into the intercom.

"Everyone, brace for impact!" he shouted, hurrying over to the nearest seat and strapping himself in. Enzo and Turcotte joined him. Trent watched the installation get bigger and bigger as the speedship shuddered from hit after hit. Missiles and mines exploded along its hull, tearing open holes and ripping through the metal. Trent forced himself not to panic as the hull of the station filled the windows, then they smashed into it.

The force of the crash was so violent that his seat was torn loose from its moorings. Still attached to it, he flew across the bridge and smashed against the front windows. When he finally came to a stop, Trent slowly began to unbuckle himself.

"That's kind of amazing," Turcotte said, pain etched into his voice. "You're still strapped in." Trent chuckled, then groaned.

"Oh, shit...I think I might've broken a rib or two," he groaned.

"Will you be able to go on?" Enzo asked, standing as well. Trent finished decoupling himself and slowly got to his feet.

"Yeah. Sure. I'll be fine," he replied tightly.

"Sound off!" Turcotte called. Trent listened to the others reporting in while he checked the pilot's pulse. The man was dead. Ever worse, two of the Yellowjackets didn't survive the crash either. The survivors gathered in the bridge. Trent stared out of the cracked front windows. They had crashed directly into a huge hangar. Flaming piles of debris and dead bodies were strewn across the massive room. Dozens of men were rushing for them.

"Get ready," he said, kneeling and popping the emergency escape hatch. He popped the hatch, tossed down a pair of grenades, and then leapt down as they exploded. The impact jarred his ribs and made him scream, but Trent slammed down hard on the pain, focusing himself. He moved out of the way and immediately began to open fire on the Black Ops troops with his battle rifle. Enzo was down next, putting them down as quickly as he could with his own battle rifle. The Yellowjackets moved in one by one, adding to the gunfire.

Seconds morphed into minutes as dozens of troops poured into the hangar. Trent emptied his battle rifle, reloaded and emptied it again. He hurled the last of his grenades, sending a dozen troops flying through the air, crashing into ships and piles of crates. He reloaded once more and realized that they were going to have to work on the fly, there were just too many troops to clear it out and then do what needed doing.

"Turcotte!" he called out.

"Yeah!?"

"I need a map of this place. Get one of your guys on a terminal, get me a route to the control center! We're going to cut a path to it!"

"You got it!"

Trent, Enzo and the other Yellowjackets kept up their fire as a pair of soldiers broke off from the main battle and hustled over to a nearby terminal built into the wall. The battle raged on, everything being drowned out by the constant sound of gunfire and occasional explosions. Trent spied one of the Yellowjackets take a shot to the face and go down instantly. He cursed sharply and kept firing, dropping another three Black Ops troops before being forced back behind his cover by the gunfire. He reloaded again.

"How's it going!?" he called.

"Got it!" one of the Yellowjackets replied. The pair of them immediately broke away from the terminal and made for Trent's position. They quickly relayed the route to central command to him. He quickly scanned the hangar bay. They needed a way out, a quick one...his eyes fell on a missile that looked as if it had meant to be loaded into one of the Pelicans, but never made it. A plan was thrown together in his head.

"Concentrate fire on the missile, then prepare to shoot our way out!" he shouted. There were a string of affirmatives. It only took five seconds of fire for the thing to ruptured and burst in a brilliant display of red and yellow.

"Go!" Trent cried.

He, Enzo and the remaining Yellowjackets bolted across the hangar bay, making for the far door. They took potshots at any Black Ops troops that looked like they had retained an ability to stand and fight. Within minutes, they were out into a huge corridor that curved around and away from them. They began pounding down it, running full tilt. The corridor was mostly empty for the moment, as all the soldiers in the immediate area had been involved in the hangar battle and were currently regrouping.

Trent knew that they didn't have too far to go. All they had to do was circle around the main passageway for a bit, then choose the right corridor and it would take them straight to the command center. Trent felt tension mounting, his muscles were tempered steel, preparing him for the worst. If Black Ops got their bomb up and running...the whole thing struck him as nuts. Something seemed off, but he had no idea what.

By the time they reached their corridor, the soldiers had regrouped and reinforcements were on the way. They plunged into the corridor.

"We'll stay here and hold them off," Turcotte said. "Get down to the main control center." Trent didn't hesitate.

"We'll go as quick as we can," he replied.

Trent and Enzo turned and sprinted off down the smaller corridor. They reached the door at the end before Trent had time to think. He slapped the activation button and kept his rifle ready. Enzo was silent and lethal at his side. The doors opened, revealing a rounded room with a single holographic display in the center. In front of that was an enormous window that gave an extremely beautiful view of the galactic core, lightyears away but still clearly visible.

"Gentleman...I'm so glad you could join me. I was hoping you'd make it."

There was a single man standing in front of the holographic display. He was facing away from them, his pale hands clasped tightly behind him. His hair was gray and slicked back. He wore a dark black suit.

"Have you turned it on yet?" Trent asked. The man still didn't turn around, but Trent could hear the smile in his voice.

"No. Not yet. But we've installed the final piece. They call me Gray, but I'm sure they've told you that by now. I suppose you're wondering why I've built this...wonderful contraption," Gray replied. Trent wanted to just shoot the bastard now and be done with it, but he needed him alive. He might have been lying about it being turned on or even just the useful knowledge they guy had in his head. They needed him alive.

"Yeah, why?" Trent replied. He and Enzo kept advancing, watching the edges of the room for any signs of movement, but there was nothing. They were alone in here. Distantly, he could hear the sound of the Yellowjackets holding off the Black Ops. As they came on the final approach, preparing to get him down on his knees and simply cover him with the rifles, the man abruptly spun around with a surprisingly deftness.

The three of them all acted at the same time.

Gray had an energy blade in each hand, raised them both and plunged one into each of their chests. At the same time, Trent was aiming his battle rifle and squeezed the trigger. Two of the three shots missed, but one caught Gray in the neck, sending him stumbling backwards. He pulled the daggers out as he fell back against his console. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. Trent heard Enzo cry out.

He felt an intense, burning white-hot pain erupt through his chest. It was followed almost immediately by an immense cold that made him think of, ridiculously, outer space. He and Enzo collapsed at roughly the same time. Trent felt his limbs beginning to go numb and realized that Gray must have hit something important. He coughed and felt something went fly out of his mouth. Blood. He tried to think past the pain. He realized Gray was talking.

"Damn, you guys really are good," he said, then he coughed wetly, spat and cleared his throat. Spat again. Trent forced himself up on his elbows. He glanced over and saw Enzo struggling to sit up. Gray laughed bitterly.

"You Humans..." he muttered. That caught Trent's attention. He focused fully on Gray and realized that the man's eyes were glowing. "You seem surprised. I'm surprised your intelligence didn't piece it together..." he paused, spat twice to get the blood out of his mouth, then continued. "I'm a Forerunner AI...the man you know as Gray is dead. I took him over when I saw the opportunity. Damn these bodies are so fragile..."

"Why...did you do all this?" Trent wheezed. He nearly passed out as he forced himself to sit up, propping himself up on his hands. He could no longer hear the sounds of combat, but thought that that might just be his imagination.

"When I saw the state of this galaxy...compared to what it could have been...I realized that you all needed the right leadership. It was my plan to bring this galaxy into a new age of enlightenment. But, of course, I realized that not all would flock to me. I thought that having this bomb would be a good...ace up my sleeve. You'd damn well listen then. You Humans, the Covenant...you've screwed it all up..."

Gray was very white now. Ashen. He didn't have long. He was loosing too much blood. Trent knew that he and Enzo didn't have much time either. He wondered how they were going to get out of this.

"And now...it's all for...nothing..."

The light in Gray's eyes flickered, then died. He slumped to the ground and remained immobile. Trent sighed a little and looked over at Enzo. They stared at each other for a long time, not saying anything. Not having the strength to do so.

"We had a good run," Trent said finally. Enzo chuckled.

"Yes, indeed we did. I...am so lucky to have a friend and battle brother such as yourself Trent," he replied. He reached out. Trent tried to grab his clawed hand, missed twice, and finally managed it on the third try. Enzo squeezed and Trent squeezed back.

"Right back at you, buddy. It's been a hell of a ride." Enzo's grip began to weaken. His gaze started to lose focus. "Enzo?"

He was gone. He slumped back to the floor, eyes now unseeing. Trent held onto his hand for a moment longer, then set it down. He was too tired to cry, or feel much of anything. Instead, he stared out at the galactic core for what felt like a very long time. Before he knew it, he realized that he was very cold.

Slowly, gently, he laid himself back down on the ground.

Maybe he would go to sleep...

Just for a minute...


	40. Epilogue

_**Epilogue**_

It was cold, gray and rainy on the day they buried Trent Temple and the others.

Blake watched them lower his coffin into a hole in the earth. It was the last of four. Trent, Enzo, Jared and Cann were all being buried next to Eric. A long line of finality, an end to suffering. Blake watched the ONI men, dressed up and polished, lower these coffins into the cold ground and found it difficult to feel much of anything. How much death, devastation and destruction had he seen so far? But he knew his present apathy was a lie. He knew that he would suffer greatly later, and he was just in shock right now.

He thought about everything that had happened in the two weeks following the Final Battle of Omega Halo. They had managed to get the Flood contained and destroyed, but it had been a damned near thing and required glassing most of the surface of the Halo. A high-level quarantine had been enacted around the space and both the Elites and UNSC were still patrolling it. Everyone knew they'd dodged a bullet there.

As soon as they'd been appraised of the situation, the UNSC had managed to send a small fleet of ships to the coordinates of the galaxy-buster bomb. They arrived barely an hour after Trent and Enzo had and found no resistance. In fact, once they got onboard, they found everyone there dead. After a bit of investigation, they realized that Gray had been implementing a unique form of mind-control in all of his troops, somehow managing to maintain thousands of connections across lightyears. Of course, the technology was lost with the death of Gray. And, upon his death, all the links had been severed. Which was fatal.

Possibly most frustrating of all was the fact that Trent and Enzo had obviously only just died. Their bodies were still warm. But the spark of life had been lost, no matter how hard the medics tried to revive them.

They were declared dead, zipped up into body bags and shipped home.

Beyond this, Blake knew next to nothing. He'd wanted to bury himself after all that. He'd disappeared to a little apartment on a backwater colony where it always rained and drank his credits away. No one came looking for him...until, of all people, Jennifer showed up on his doorstep, telling him about the funeral.

They had flown to Earth in silence and had hardly exchanged two sentences. Blake didn't know what to say to her, anyway, and it was obvious she felt the same way. Now, here he stood in the rain, shaved for the first time in a while. They had won. Black Ops was done for. Presently, there were no serious threats against the UNSC and the Elites. But it hadn't felt like a victory. The cost...was too high. At least, that's how Blake felt.

He watched the proceedings begin to wrap up. They did the whole thing. Speeches, twenty one gun salute, a big crowd. ONI had chosen to go public with the Survivors, but that's only because Trent knew they were shutting the program down. He was a little surprised that Enzo had been buried on Earth, but it turned out he'd written up something like a will, and it specified that he be buried next to Trent, wherever that might be.

They finished up. Trent's coffin was covered by dirt. The media circus began to leave. The crowd began to die away. After a while, the military people started to wander off. Blake remained where he was, staring at the fresh graves, still unable to feel anything. He was so cold now that he'd gone numb in the rain.

Finally, after a long time, he realized a small crowd was heading his way. He glanced over and realized it was some of the others. Kiza, Jennifer, Thorne, Linda and Jorge. He'd seen some of the others, but they had gone by now. All that was left besides him and his group was a pair of ONI personnel, who were lingering around the grave.

Nobody spoke for a long time. They merely stood there in the rain. Finally, after a while, Blake broke the silence.

"So...now what?" he asked. Linda was the first to reply.

"Since they're shutting down the Survivors program, Jorge and I have opted to join up with the Spartan-IV program. They're getting closer to going official with it and word is they're even going to phase out the ODSTs in favor of the Spartan-IVs and Yellowjackets," she replied.

"I think...I'm going to take a vacation," Kiza said quietly, after another length of time. Blake glanced at her.

"A vacation?"

"Yes. I...need more time to mourn. But I also know that Enzo would not have me rotting away on some military vessel or isolated location...he'd want me to be enjoying myself. I see this as a...fair compromise. And there _are_ a fair amount of Human worlds I've heard about that I wish to see..." she trailed off. Blake shrugged.

"I'm not sure what I'm going to do...what I _can_ do," he replied.

"Just keep moving on," Jennifer said. "It's all we can, do, really."

Blake considered her words. Before long, Linda, Jorge and Kiza wished them farewell and left the graveyard. Jennifer lingered uncertainly. Blake realized she wanted to say something, but was clearly conflicted about it. After a moment, she finally hugged him.

"Call me," she said quietly. He hugged her back.

"I will." She squeezed him, once, then let go, turned and left.

Blake was alone in the graveyard. He stared at the graves again. No, not alone. The pair of ONI men were still there. And now they were looking at him, and walking towards him. He felt something like interest stir within him. When they approached, one stuck his hand out. Blake shook it.

"Hello, Blake. My name is Conrad, and I've got a proposition for you. How'd you like your old job in the Yellowjackets back?"

* * *

_**Author's Note: **Oh. My. God. It's done. It's finally finished. Now, I'm going to keep this kind of brief, and while I know that most of the people here don't read my blog, I'd like to point out that I've just made a blog post specifically related to The Rookie Chronicles as a whole, a sort of retrospective. Also, there's a link to my blog on my profile page._

_ What do I have to say about it? Well, I'm glad it's done. That's as far as I'll go here. You want more, go read the blog post._

_ So what's happening now? Well...remember how I was all up in arms about Darker Days? Guess what, I need more time. If I'm going to do it right...I simply need more time. This past month and a half has been very trying for me and I got next to no writing done._

_ So if I'm taking my time on Darker Days, then what am I going to be writing?_

_ Some of you might have noticed that little cliffhanger at the end there. Well, I'm planning on writing a new series of shorter stories featuring Blake as the main character, with a few returning minor characters to become bigger ones. Again, there's more details about this in the blog post, but the series will be called Yellowjackets._

_ I hope to see you all there at the launch of the first Yellowjackets story, entitled Piecemeal. Coming soon.  
_

_-Obsidian_


End file.
